Eluding Destiny
by Leonora Perrault
Summary: When a visit back home goes awry, Rogue learns the depths of both love and betrayal as Professor Xavier's vision of the future begins to unfold.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Even when the sun is shining

I can't avoid the lighting

~ Travis, Why Does It Always Rain On Me?

Dinner time at Xavier's Institute for Gifted Children was in its chaotic full-swing when the phone rang. The first two rings were drowned out by Jamie shouting, "Oh, crap! Sorry guys!" as he bumped into the table and exploded into three. The third ring prompted a panicked scramble for the phone. It was Bobby who got there first. Grinning triumphantly at everyone sprawled on the ice-coated floor, he motioned for silence and held the receiver to his ear.

"Xavier's Institute, this is Bobby Drake speaking." There was a long pause, then, "Oh. Okay. Sure, I'll get her. Hold on a sec – hey Rogue! Rogue, it's for you," he called. Handing it to her, he added, "It's Irene somebody-or-other."

Rogue wandered into the kitchen as everyone else sat back down, grumbling at Bobby. She pressed a hand against her stomach to quell the butterflies beating there before lifting the phone to her ear.

"Hi, Irene," she said coolly. Anger and betrayal were making her fingers shake, but she was pleased to discover her voice was a decent blend of hurt and detachment.

"Oh, Rogue!" Irene's voice was warm and familiar over the phone line. "Rogue, I've missed you so much," she said quietly. "And before you say anything, I know you're angry with me. Believe me, I know. I can explain things, but you have to promise to listen, darling."

"Ah don't want to hear it," Rogue hissed. "You an' Mystique worked together. You used me my entire life."

Irene sighed on the other end, and Rogue heard the static-y sniff of held back tears. Guilt made her ache to take back everything she'd just said.

"Rogue, I did not know what Raven wanted from you. She told me to raise you, so I did. I didn't see anything wrong with what she wanted at the time. She never explained her reasons to me, and I didn't question her motives. Maybe I should have, but I didn't." Her voice was completely calm and reassuring - the same tone she'd always used when she thought Rogue was blowing things out of proportion.

"You told me the X-men were mutant hunters," Rogue snapped, keeping her voice low. "Did she tell you ta say that too?"

"Hush, Rogue," Irene replied angrily. "Do you honestly think I ever wanted to hurt you? That I ever wanted anything but the best for you? I told you what I thought I knew, because I wanted you – want you – to be safe. Was it wrong? Yes, I see that now. I'm sorry. I'm a lot of things, but I am not Raven."

Rogue curled an arm around herself, biting her lower lip. "Ah don't know how ta believe you," she said finally. "But Ah want to." Her voice trembled and she cleared her throat.

"I miss you, darling," Irene said. A thousand memories of Mississippi and her house and Irene ran rapid-fire through Rogue's mind, leaving her feeling numb with homesickness. "You may not be Raven's daughter, but you are mine."

"Ah miss you too," Rogue admitted, feeling extremely young. "Ah keep dreamin' about being back home."

"You could come back, you know." There was the slightest note of reproach in Irene's voice. "I don't suppose you have any of my letters?"

Rogue smiled bitterly at the thought of the unopened envelopes she'd been keeping for the last two years. "Ah have them."

There was a sad laugh. "Did you ever read them? No, don't answer. You're going to break my heart, Rogue, truly." She sighed, a quiet rush of air that filled the distance between them. "I wanted you to come down during spring break. I knew you wouldn't, but I was hoping you would at least write and tell me you weren't coming."

"Ah'm sorry, Irene. Ah just... Ah didn't think Ah could trust you." She still didn't know if she could, but she wanted to. So help her, but she wanted to.

"Rogue, I love you. You're my daughter. I would never hurt you, not intentionally."

"Ah... Ah know."

"Think about it. Please. Your break starts in two days, and if you change your mind I can have you on a plane that day."

"Ah want to come home Irene," she said quietly, hardly believing herself. There was still the possibility that this was another trick, another betrayal. But this was Irene; Irene who had cared for her and loved her and never really lied to her.

"And I want you here," Irene said. Rogue thought of the muggy Mississippi air with another pang of longing. _Ah could go home_.

"If Ah came... there are some things Ah wanna talk about," Rogue said after a pause. "Ah need some answers."

"I'm willing to give them, darling, to the best of my ability." There was nothing but honesty in her voice. Rogue bit her lip, hard, then sighed shakily.

"Ah'll talk to the professor tonight."

Irene chuckled on the other end of the line. "Oh, Rogue, when did you grow up?" she asked wistfully. "Goodness, I can't wait to see you. I'll e-mail you the flight times and the boarding passes, all right?"

"Okay, sounds good."

"Take care, darling."

"Ah will. 'Night, Irene." Rogue hung up the phone, her thoughts tumbling around her head in a whirlwind of fear and excitement. She was going home.

XxXxXxX

Kitty caught up with her while she was packing her suitcase. She was still in uniform, and her ponytail was a mess. "Hey, like, you're leaving? Since when?"

"Hey, like, Ah am. Like, since an hour ago." Rogue offered a crooked smile to take the sting out of her words and looked contemplatively at the pile of clothes. "Ah'm leavin' in two days, an' Ah can't think of what else Ah'm gonna need. It'll be pretty warm back home."

"Want help?" Kitty instantly looked perkier up at the mention of clothes. "After I take a shower, of course. We could totally pack you some layers so you could wear shorts and tank-tops, but then we'd have to find you some cute summer shoes... hmm. How do you feel about espadrilles? And what about pumps? Wait, do you even have a pair of sandals? You could probably borrow some of Jean's, I'm sure she wouldn't mind, she has, like, _tons_... do you think you guys are the same size? You're only, like, an inch or two shorter. You know, I bet you might be able to fit into some of her skirts, too..."

"Yah sure yah don't wanna re-pack mah entire suitcase?" Rogue interrupted, rolling her eyes. "How about yah just take your shower, and help me when you're done, all right?"

Kitty sighed in good-natured exasperation. "Like I wasn't going to anyway. Logan's Danger Room sessions are a total bummer at the end of the day; they make you all ucky right before bed... But seriously, if I'm leaving you to your own devices, you have to pack some skirts! Not just those goth-y leather ones you wear, but, like, fun skirts! Colors other than black and purple, okay?"

"Kitty. Shower," Rogue reminded her. Kitty grabbed the rosy pink pajamas from her equally pink bed and phased through the door.

"Be back in a bit!"

Rogue scoffed. If there was one thing Kitty was known for beside her chatterbox tendencies and shopping addiction, it was her hour-long showers.

"Yeah, right," she said under her breath. She chuckled quietly and shook her head as she resumed packing.

XxXxXxX

In the end Kitty did re-pack about half of her clothes, but however grudgingly, Rogue had to admit her roommate knew what she was doing. The outfits she'd come up with would be a lot lighter and less stifling than the ones Rogue had originally planned. Of course, Kitty's enthusiasm had also put her bag just under the fifty pound limit, she noted without surprise as the woman hefted it from the scale to the carousel.

Once she got to security, she began to get looks. Two security guards were watching her, and there were at least a handful of people staring. _It's the hair_, she thought with a roll of her eyes, _Ah swear, one of these days Ah'm gonna dye it blue ta put a stop to all this_. Even though all of the X-men had been revealed on the news, she was one of the ones that stuck in people's memory. Logan, Scott, and surprisingly, Jean, were the other three that were recognized most often.

"Ticket and driver's license please," the short security guard at the end of the line asked. She handed both over. The ticket passed, but her driver's license got a second, third, and even fourth glace.

"Hey, Kyle, c'mere." He motioned to a heavyset man in his early fifties, also wearing a security guard's uniform. "Is this legit?"

After a moment spent peering at the license, he glanced up at Rogue and did a double take. "Kid, where did you get this?"

Rogue sighed heavily. She should have just put a fake name on the thing and left it at that. "The DMV." She tried not to sound sarcastic.

"And your name's Rogue."

"Yep." Behind her, other passengers were getting irritated with the hold-up.

"Will you get the mutie out of the way? Some of us have planes to catch," a young business man grumbled.

"Here kid," Kyle motioned for her to follow him off to the side. "Look, there's just a year for the date of birth on this thing, and there's no home address. I don't think I can let you through."

"Ya wanna call my school? Professor Xavier arranged it like this 'cause somebody destroyed my birth records, and he doesn't want anybody comin' inta the school if they steal my purse. My license has the activation code on it for the gate."

"Charles Xavier? From the mutant school?"

"Yeah, him." She checked her watch out of habit. She had a good forty-five minutes.

"Okay, so here's the deal." He blew out his breath in a gusty sigh. "I'm gonna have you go through the sensors, then get checked by Nikki over there, okay?" He pointed at a young Hispanic woman in a closed off section. "And I'm going to check your purse and your backpack, okay?"

Rogue shrugged and handed them over. "Should Ah take off my boots?" He looked at the heavy combat boots and nodded.

"Yeah, I'll take those too. Save you the trouble of doing this again with Bernie." Bernie was apparently the balding redhead running the metal detector next to them. Holding back an exasperated sigh, Rogue handed him her boots in exchange for her ticket and walked through the detector.

XxXxXxX

After the whole fiasco at security, which had taken up most of her time, it was a relief to finally be on the plane. Of course, they'd been sitting on the runway for a good half hour, but she had a book and her iPod. The book, she was reading, the music she was using to tune out the woman yakking away on her cell phone in the adjacent seat.

"Passengers, this is the captain speaking. First of all, on behalf of myself and the flight crew I would like to thank you for your patience. Second, please buckle your seatbelts and place your carry-on bags beneath your seats, as we will be taking off shortly."

Rogue shoved her backpack further under the seat in front of her and turned up the volume on her iPod. The woman next to her apparently had very good hearing, because she glared as Garbage began to leak through the cheap plastic earbuds. Rogue ignored her and turned to look out the window. As promised, the plane was picking up speed. Within a few seconds, she felt the nose of the plane lift off the ground, and then they were flying low over New York City. Rogue sighed with relief and watched the bustling city fade into a glittering speck beneath them.

XxXxXxX

The insistent ringing of the phone forced the woman out of a restless sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she took her cane and felt her way to the table.

"Dr. Essex, I assume whatever you want is important at this hour. I'm paying to use your facilities, not to chit-chat." The woman's voice was harder than steel and sharper than shattered glass.

"I merely wished to confirm a few key points in the procedure. If you value this girl's safety, you will want me to be informed." The voice on the other end of the line was soothing.

"Of course I value her safety," was the snapped reply. "Would I be going to this much trouble if I didn't? What is it you need to know?"

"I need to be sure that her powers work as you say. Are you positive they work the same way when she's unconscious? Keep in mind the drugs I use are not standard sedatives, and some of them are... still a bit experimental."

"I haven't had the chance to test it, but her abilities are completely subconscious. She couldn't control them even if she wanted to."

His voice turned thoughtful. "Given a little more time, a little more incentive... that could certainly be cured. For a young woman her age, imagine the freedom that would give."

"You confuse wanting her safe with wanting her happy. I don't. I merely want her to be protected if these predictions come true."

"As long as you're sure..."

"Positive. Don't contact me again unless something goes wrong with the Danvers woman." She hung up the phone without waiting for a reply, and returned to the couch to get a few more hours of uneasy sleep, filled with images she did not want to see and could not possibly keep away.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

She wants to go home

But nobody's home

Avril Lavigne, Nobody's Home

Irene's house looked the same as it had when she left more than two years ago. Rogue tipped the taxi driver and stood at the end of the driveway for a long moment, savoring the atmosphere. The front yard was still full of magnolias and azaleas, and the enormous oak tree by the door shadowed the entire house in the sinking sunlight.

She rang the doorbell for what felt like forever before she heard someone moving inside. She bounced nervously on her heels. She had no idea what to expect after two conversations and a quick e-mail.

"Rogue!" Irene's voice swelled with relief as she opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. "Thank goodness."

Once she was within reach, Irene laid her gloved hand against Rogue's cheek and held it there as if memorizing the feel of it.

"I can't believe how much you've grown." It was barely a whisper, but she sounded so sad that Rogue instantly felt guilty. Irene had taken care of her and loved her like a daughter, and Rogue had repaid her by leaving without a good-bye, and then doubting her word. Irene had never lied to her, never been anything but kind.

"Ah missed you so much," she said, then jumped a little when Irene reached out and hugged her. Neither of them had ever been very "touchy-feely". She tolerated it for as long as she could before gently pulling away.

"Where should Ah put my stuff?"

"In your room, of course," Irene said, sounding surprised. "I had my assistant cook up some dinner; it's on the table when you're ready." She smiled quietly. "It's catfish."

"Mmm," Rogue hummed, instantly starving. "Ah'll just put my stuff away and wash up quick before we eat. Do ya mind?"

"No, that sounds fine. I'm sure you've had a long day." There was an odd, almost anxious note to her voice as she added, "I'll be in the dining room."

The whole house felt strange, Rogue decided as she made her way down the hallway, like no one had been there for a while. It was a ridiculous thought, because obviously, Irene had been there, but it made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Something felt off. It was nothing but a _feeling_ that was giving her the jitters, though, and finally Rogue wrote it off as having spent too much time with Logan. The man was determined to find some sort of conspiracy brewing wherever they went.

Her room was significantly emptier than when she'd left. The schoolwork on the desk was gone, and all the clothes that had been thrown on the floor or across the bed were in the closet, neatly hung up from darkest to lightest as Irene had always done. "Light on the right," she'd always mumbled to herself, whether talking about dishes, clothing, or the colored pencils she used in her diaries. The fact that Irene had kept her room intact, though, erased most of the doubts Rogue had about the trip. _She missed me. She wants me here_.

Sighing, Rogue threw the suitcase on the bed and flung it open. Time to put Kitty to the test. It was at least thirty degrees warmer here than in New York, something she'd noted the minute she stepped off the plane. Jeans and gloves were all well and good until it hit sixty degrees. She had been boiling inside her own skin ever since leaving the airport.

In the end Rogue put on a pair of black shorts with sheer gray leggings underneath, and a light tank top replaced her purple wrap. After a bit of sifting, she found the much-praised opera gloves Kitty had fallen in love with, though goodness knew where she'd gotten them. She redid some of her make-up out of habit before taking a deep breath and heading to the dining room for dinner.

XxXxXxX

Dinner was a quiet affair. Rogue went through two helpings of catfish, intermittently answering Irene's questions about Xavier's school. She didn't have many, but she was worried about what she heard on the news. The fighting, for one, she pointed out, was completely unreasonable for a bunch of teenagers. Rogue smiled grimly at that, images of their battle with Apocalypse running through her head. She waited for the babble of voices to make themselves heard, only to remember there was just one voice in her head: Dorian Leech. She could feel him, but he was sitting quietly on the edges of her consciousness, not adding to her thoughts and not out of them.

"It's not so bad," she defended after a second, reluctantly setting her fork down. "The teachers keep us safe, and we're helpin' people. More than the Army or the Marines or the National Guard could. If we hadn't been there when Apocalypse an' Magneto decided ta start changin' ordinary people or wipin' them out... nobody else coulda done anything."

"I still don't like it," Irene muttered testily, and Rogue steered the conversation toward her friends rather than fueling a fight on her first night back. For the same reason, she held back all of questions she truly wanted to ask. _Ah have a whole two weeks_, Rogue reminded herself. _Plenty of time for heart-to-hearts_.

She felt herself getting ridiculously tired after Irene's assistant cleared the plates away. She was tall, blonde, and thin to the point of emaciation... not one Rogue had seen before. Irene hadn't introduced her, and the girl hadn't said a word to either of them. Rogue assumed she was either frightfully shy or very professional about her work.

She felt her eyelids drooping, and for a split second everything in the room looked different, shabby and gray. The windows were boarded up... she shook her head forcefully and jumped to her feet. The motion made her dizzy. It was kind of a silly feeling, this exhausted headiness.

"Ah'm... really tired." She stretched the word tired until it sounded like tyyee-errrd. It made her lips feel funny. "Ah think Ah'm gonna go ta bed. Sorry Irene," she apologized, her chest tightening. She felt so bad about bailing out when it was only like... eight? Nine? Was she crying? Impossible. She touched her cheeks, and her gloves came away a little damp. She cleared her throat and muttered, "Ah'm just kinda overwhelmed right now, is all. Ah'll be better in th' mornin'."

"All right, dear. If you're sure. You're probably a little jet-lagged, too. Just get some sleep and I'll see you tomorrow morning." Irene smiled gently, handing her a tissue. "Good night."

"Night."

Rogue stumbled into her room without flipping on the light and tried to change into her pajamas. The pants went okay. One leg, then the other, no problem. The seams were on the outside, but who cared?

The shirt was a conundrum. The sleeves were all inside-out and backwards, and she couldn't for the life of her figure out how to fix it. She was just so tired. The world seemed fuzzy at the edges, and nothing made sense. Her room kept changing. She would blink once, and it was her room, same as it had been an hour ago. If she blinked again, but didn't quite open her eyes, didn't quite let her mind focus... the whole room was empty except for her bed. The closet was ajar and the clothes inside were gone. The small pile of stuffed animals disappeared. A crack ran down the mirror that had not been there a second ago, and Rogue could not bring herself to care. She rolled over onto her stomach, forgetting the shirt, and buried her head in the pillow. It didn't take more than a second before she felt herself drifting into darkness.

XxXxXxX

It was 9:05; fifteen minutes after Rogue left the dining room. "Irene" stood and shed her form. Her short frame lengthened, her dusky brown hair turned a fiery red and slid to her shoulders. Her pupils, clouded by a nearly lifetime of blindness, disappeared into glowing yellow eyes. Mystique dropped the glasses and the cane on the table and strode into the kitchen.

"Lady Mastermind?" Scorn twisted her lips into a smirk. "You're free to go."

The blonde girl whirled around and planted her hands on her hips. "You said you'd pay me," she hissed. "When are you going to pay me? I've been keeping this thing up for weeks!"

"Poor baby," Mystique simpered. "Didn't think I might lie?"

"Bitch," Regan hissed. The illusion flickered spitefully and disappeared like it had never existed. Irene's house was once again empty, desolate, as it had been for nearly a month.

"Next time, dear, ask for payment up front." Mystique laughed, a bell-like sound from deep in her throat. "Now get out, I have work to do. Take the car, if you want. We'll consider it even, then, yes?"

Regan stiffened her shoulders, realizing she'd been tricked and there was nothing she could do about it. The car was hardly worth what she'd been offered. "Fine. But I won't forget about this," she threatened. Mystique's delighted laughter became an all-out belly laugh. Regan snatched the keys and slammed the door on the way out, trying to maintain whatever dignity she had left.

The minute the tires squealed out of the driveway Mystique's amusement vanished. She took her bag off the counter and went to Rogue's room on auto-pilot. At this point, it was all about execution.

The girl was sprawled across her bed in her bra and pajama pants, which were on inside-out and backwards. Mystique hissed in irritation. She grabbed the shirt off the floor and forced Rogue into it, keeping up her internal run-down of the next few hours. Once the girl's arms had been worked through the sleeves, Mystique took out a thin hypodermic needle and with calculated precision, sunk it into a vein by the jugular. Rogue's eyes twitched beneath her eyelids, but her heart rate and breathing remained steady. With a surprising amount of strength, Mystique hefted Rogue into her covered arms. After kicking the bag under the bed, she left the room, left the house, and piled the girl into the backseat of a non-descript gray car. The windows weren't tinted, she noted with irritation, which was what she asked for. Looking over her shoulder, she decided Rogue looked natural enough to pass as asleep, so long as no one tried to wake her. The engine purred to life beneath her fingers and she grinned. _Stupid thieving idiot got one thing right_. She pealed out of the garage, into the driveway and down onto the road. Three more hours and it would be over. Rogue would hate her and a someone would be dead, but neither of those things were particularly foreign to her.

After twenty minutes weaving through quiet Caldecott streets, she hit the highway at ninety miles an hour.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

I'm losing my mind

And you just stand there and stare

As my world divides

Evanescence, Snow White Queen

"I'm vorried about her," Kurt announced for the third time in half an hour. He was playing with his holowatch, flipping between the image of himself and a pale, dark-haired boy. Both of his faces were lined with anxiety.

Across the kitchen island, Kitty rolled her eyes. "Kurt, it's the second day of spring break," she chided, "and you're ruining my lunch. Rogue probably hasn't called 'cause she was excited to see her foster mom. You, of all people, should understand wanting to spend time with family." After a couple of bites, she concluded, "If she hasn't called by tomorrow, then we'll ask the professor to check in on her, okay? No need to stress."

"Kitty, she is not answering her cell phone. It's not out of service, it's not off. She's just not answering it. Does that sound normal to you?"

"Kurt, maybe she's just having a good time. I don't answer my phone right away when I go visit my parents."

"I know. But I'm her brother, Kitty. It's my job to vorry," Kurt sighed. "And I vould feel much better if she vould just pick up her phone and say she got there okay. I mean, vhat if there vas a problem at the airport? Or vhat if her ride didn't get there? She could be in trouble," he told her mock-seriously, "and as her friends it's our _duty_ to make sure she's not."

Kitty put down her sandwich and propped her chin in the palm of her hand. "You're seriously not gonna let this go until we hear from her, are you? You've been watching too much Law and Order. Rogue can take care of herself, Kurt."

"I didn't say she couldn't," he protested. "And I don't vatch Law and Order. I vatch CSI."

"Whatever, okay? Just let me finish this and we'll go talk to the professor. I'm warning you right now, though, he's gonna tell you to twiddle your thumbs and take a chill pill."

Kurt shrugged, visibly relieved. "Hey, and if I'm vorried over nothing, that's good. That means she's fine."

"She is fine, Kurt," Kitty reminded him, rolling her eyes.

"Of course. But we are going to check in vith the professor, just in case."

Kitty heaved a sigh. "Yeah, I guess we are."

XxXxXxX

Rogue woke briefly. At least, she was pretty sure she was awake. Her eyes felt gummy and glued together. She pried them open reluctantly. The world swirled in a dizzying array of meaningless shapes.

"Ughh..." she moaned, peeling her lips apart. The more awake she became, the worse she felt. Her stomach knotted in on itself, making her whole body feel too tight and utterly uncomfortable.

"Good evening, my dear. Comfortable, I hope?" Rogue peered at the voice, trying to make her eyes focus by sheer willpower. A tall shape swam and rearranged itself, making her head ache.

Cool, plastic-covered fingers gently probed her listless arm. "This will hurt, I'm afraid. Count to ten."

One, two, three, four... something pinched inside the tender crease of her elbow. Rogue hissed.

"Very good." His footsteps tapped sharply on the floor, fading. "Until later, Rogue."

_How do you know my name_, she wanted to ask. _Ah don't know you. Ah don't understand what's going on_.

She felt herself floating, drifting. The tension in her limbs rolled out of her, leaving her limp and deeply content. In the back of her mind though, there was a quiet voice whispering that something was deeply wrong, and that she should be afraid.

XxXxXxX

"Logan, could you come up to my office, please?"

"Somethin' wrong, Charles?" Logan asked over the intercom. Glancing at the anxious faces of his students, the professor paused.

"Not exactly."

Logan swore colorfully. "I'll be up in a sec."

"Professor, what does it mean if you can't find her on Cerebro?" Kitty whispered. She twisted her hands in her lap, biting her lower lip. Beside her, Kurt's tail was thrashing back and forth and he refused to meet Charles' eyes.

"Just that she hasn't used her powers," he reassured her. "What I'm worried about is the mental link I have with all of you. Rogue has, for lack of a better term, gone radio silent." He shook his head. "I should be able to hear the echoes of her thoughts if I concentrate, and I can't. That is what worries me."

The door banged on its hinges. Logan stormed in, growling under his breath and chewing on the end of the cigar he wasn't allowed to smoke on school grounds.

"So? What's "not exactly" wrong that's needs doin' right now?" He bit off the words.

"Kitty, Kurt. If you could excuse us?" Kurt looked like he was about to protest, but Kitty cut him off with an elbow in the ribs.

"Sure thing, Professor. If there's anything we can do, we want to, okay?"

"Of course, Kitty. I'll keep you both informed." Charles waited until they were out the door and moving down the hall before addressing Logan. "According to the mortuary in Caldecott, Irene Adler died almost a month ago. Apparently, no one was informed of her death with the exception of the police and the mortician." He steepled his hands and continued, "I didn't want to disturb Kitty or Kurt more than they already were, but given the circumstances, I believe Rogue is in danger." Logan snarled viciously, only to be silenced by a sharp look. "I've been running through what I can find with Cerebro. Irene was once a close friend of Mystique, though I cannot tell what sort of contact they've had in recent years."

"You think she has somethin' to do with this?"

"I think it's likely. There are a few others who might want to use her powers, but Mystique certainly has a history of similar actions."

"Posin' as Adler is somethin' she would do," Logan agreed. "But posin' as her and then kidnappin' Rogue? That sounds exactly like her."

"To what end, though?" the professor mused. "Rogue's absorption is temporary, and as regrettable as it is... she wants nothing to do with Mystique. She would not help her for any reason I could imagine."

"That's regrettable?" Logan tossed his cigar in the trash and folded his arms across his chest. "I'll take Storm and the jet. We'll start with Caldecott and follow whatever leads are there."

"Baton Rouge."

"What?"

"She just used her powers," he said quickly, putting a hand to his temple out of habit. The cold metal that brushed his fingers felt more ominous after the sustained image of Rogue, her face empty but her mind frantic. "She's in a hospital a few minutes outside of the city. She's not in pain, but there's someone there with her."

"Not for long. Let Storm know I'm in the hangar. Tell her she's flying first."

Charles slipped Cerebro's helmet off and set it on his desk. "I will. Good luck."

"Don't need it," Logan answered. "We'll have her back by tonight."

XxXxXxX

She woke up sore and disoriented. She blinked, once, twice, three times, and the world remained fuzzy and indecisive. Her brain scrambled frantically. _What did she remember?_ For a terrifying moment, she came up blank. Then memories came to her, disjointed and dreamlike. Screaming, fighting. An endless hallway. A bright room, sterile and white; indistinguishable from the rest. Metal table. Laser. I.V. Blissful nothingness. Sudden shock, a sinking feeling, and dancing lights behind her eyes that must have been from the drugs. Numbness, then nothing.

Ten minutes passed before she could push herself into a sitting position. She'd always been good at keeping track of time. She sat still for at least two minutes, catching her breath, before she had the willpower to slide out of the hospital bed. The room spun in sickening circles, but the floor stayed in place.

The pain shocked her the most. Her legs quaked, her arms shook, and every joint in her body was on fire. She couldn't imagine what the scientist must have done to make her hurt so badly. She shuffled from one end of the room to the other and then across before sinking back onto the crisp white sheets. She couldn't tell if it was the fluorescent lighting, or a marker of how much time she'd been there, but her legs looked awfully pale. Her skin was almost translucent looking, a color she was positive it had never been before. How many days would that have taken? Panic swelled in her chest, and she forced it back down. At first she had been diligent, finding a way to mark each day. After a while, she simply had no way of knowing. Her best guess was three weeks, maybe a little more than a month. A long time, but not unbearably long. Working with the government had taught her that. The three month mark was when her chances of being found fell to almost nothing. She still had time.

Every movement was painful. The effort it took to lay down amazed her, and once she was on her back, she decided she wasn't moving ever again.

Being weak frustrated her. She had always been powerful, even before her powers manifested, and being so helpless was infuriating. She was invulnerable, she was powerful, and she could fly. Nothing could touch her without her say-so, and no one could keep her where she didn't want to be. Until now.

Carol closed her eyes and flung an arm across her face, the way she'd fallen asleep since before she could remember. After the initial stab of pain, it felt pleasant and familiar enough to comfort her. She was going to be free. She was going to go home. By now, her parents, her employers, her friends, the police, they'd all be looking for her. She was loved enough, and important enough, that every resource would be used to find her and bring her back. Soon someone, or something, would distract the scientist and the woman long enough for her to get away. They had to make a mistake eventually, and she was going to be ready when they did.

She was almost asleep when she heard a girl screaming. Carol squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. _It isn't real. I'm drugged up and tired. It is not real_. After an endless moment, the sound stopped, and she could finally drift off into a dreamless sleep.

XxXxXxX

"We're stoppin' in the city first." He ignored Storm's raised brow and took his spot in the co-pilot's seat.

"May I ask why? We have the coordinates for the hospital, and it would seem getting to Rogue is prudent."

"Kidnapping? Louisiana? Any of this ringin' a bell with you, Storm?" She glared before nodding thoughtfully.

"You assume her kidnapper is Gambit?"

"I don't assume anythin'. I talked ta Charles and he pegged Gambit down in the same area - once in Caldecott, and now in Baton Rouge. He might have somethin' to do with this, and as soon as we can get another lock on him, we'll know for sure. Shouldn't take long," he added, "considerin' who we're talkin' about."

"Brace yourself then," Storm said, her eyes clouding over as she adjusted the wings of the Blackbird. "I can get us there in about an hour."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Notes from Leo: Firstly, a huge thank you to anyone who has been reviewing - you are so very much appreciated! Your opinions, praise, suggestions, etc. are a huge help to me.

Secondly, Remy's French. Sadly, I don't speak any, and I refuse to use babelfish after having to correct papers that were translated there. So, any French that our resident Cajun speaks comes from linguistics websites and translation books. If it's wrong, I'm very sorry, and feel free to correct me.

Without further ado

_Homme_ - man

_Mademoiselle_ - equivalent to the English "miss"

_Mam'selle_ - the shortened version of mademoiselle

Just one more fight

About a lot of things

And I will give up everything

To be on my own again

Free again

Limp Bizkit, My Way

"Bless me father, for I have sinned." Remy LeBeau paused, counting backwards. "It's been... at least a year since m' last confession." If the priest was shocked, he said nothing.

"I'm here because a man is dead, an' it's my fault." Remy let the words crawl, flat and unemotional, between the latticework. On the other side, he could hear the priest's sharp, quiet intake of breath.

"Go on, then." The voice was remarkably steady.

Remy opened his mouth, but the words he thought he would say died on his lips. He wanted absolution. He wanted forgiveness. He wanted to tell the priest he saw Julien Boudreaux's face in his dreams and caught glimpses of Henri out of the corner of his eyes. _The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want_. But he did want. He wanted to go back to before and start over.

"Father, I –"

He what? He was homeless, living as a mercenary. He was in love with a woman who would kill him if she saw him again. He was an exile and a murderer, and he was beyond stupid for thinking this would fix things.

In a burst of unfocused energy, he left the confessional and stormed into the streets of suburban Baton Rouge. Two blocks down from the church he finally caught his breath, and chuckled when he realized his fingers were shaking.

"Dat," he said wryly to no one in particular, "is what y' get for goin' and tryin' to tell the truth."

Remy fished a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket and lit one with the tip of his finger. His nerves calmed and after a long second he relaxed, leaning against the brick and mortar of, wouldn't you know it, a courthouse. The late evening sun set the whole world on fire, and Remy briefly considered throwing on his shades.

"Mind if I join ya?"

She was younger than him, but not by much, and pretty in a small-town sort of way. Long brown hair, sparkling blue eyes, freckles sprinkled across her nose. Her short skirt and scooping neckline just begged for Remy to notice her. He grinned and motioned to the wall.

"Ain't nobody stoppin' y', now is dere?" He accompanied the invitation with a grin and a wink. The girl's mouth curved into a half-smile and she pulled a pack out of her purse.

"I'm Isabella, but everybody calls me Bella."

Anything else he might have said died on the spot. A new idea, a masochistic and stupid one, formed instead. He liked it. He took a deep drag and flicked the glowing ember onto the sidewalk.

"Dat so? M' Etienne," he lied, offering the name a friend who wouldn't mind the use. "An' dat's pretty much what everybody calls me."

Isabella smiled prettily, leaning towards him. "You stayin' around here long?"

"As long as a beautiful girl like you wants me too," he lied, throwing the butt on the ground and grinding it out with his toe. Her eyes flashed, suddenly full of mischief and intrigue.

"Is that so?" She grinned at him and crooked her finger in a come-hither motion. "Ya wanna stop somewhere for dinner? It's gettin' pretty late. We could head back ta my place for coffee after," she suggested, a faint blush marking her cheeks.

He knew there was probably a reason she was offering – maybe she'd just broken up with her boyfriend, maybe she'd just lost her job, maybe she just wanted to forget about reality for a little while, like he did – but he couldn't have been more grateful for the distraction.

"Bella," he grinned, "lead the way."

XxXxXxX

Remy let himself into his hotel room a little past two in the morning. He didn't bother with the lights; his eyes gave him a red-tinted night vision that made them unnecessary. He flung his duster over the chair in the corner, and was in the process of taking off his shoes when he realized he wasn't alone.

"Hold it right there, bub," Wolverine snarled, unsheathing his claws. Storm, silent as a ghost, trailed behind him.

Remy held up one hand in surrender and smirked. _Good timing, Wolverine_. He was still grasping the laces of one of his shoes. He twitched his fingers, and the leather glowed a lurid, intense pink.

"Might wanna think on dat again, _homme_. It'd be awful unfortunate if my fingers slipped."

"Both of you, stop," Storm ordered. She moved between them and held out her hands. "Gambit, we need to ask you a few questions, that's all. If you cooperate, it won't take more than a few minutes."

"Pardon if I don't believe you, _mademoiselle_." Remy favored her with a scoundrel's grin. "Convince me."

Her blue eyes burned and clouded over, alive with held-back energy. Ribbons of electricity rolled through her white hair, curling down her arms. It was a very obvious reminder that she was just as dangerous as the snarling, adamantium-clawed Wolverine. "Gambit, we would very much appreciate your cooperation, please."

Wolverine barked a laugh at his expense. "I'd un-charge that and drop it before the weather witch gets really pissed."

Remy pressed his lips together and let the tingle of kinetic energy flow back into his fingers. The shoe fell to the floor with an audible thud, and there was a split second pause.

In the next second, Wolverine had him pinned by the throat. Remy tried to flip him, but on the floor with adamantium claws at his neck, he had no leverage.

"Thought we were cooperatin'," he managed. A thin trail of blood worked its way into his collar.

Storm frowned, but made no move to help. "Where is Rogue, Gambit?"

"Huh?" The girl's face appeared in a few hazy memories. The sound of her voice, cynical and mocking, escaped him, but he could remember the way her eyes shined when he slipped a card into her hand as an apology and a thank-you.

"Rogue was here a couple hours ago," Wolverine growled, pressing down a little harder. "Which is awful funny, 'cause so were you."

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I swear. I've only been in de city since dis mornin'."

Wolverine began to sniff him, an incredibly uncomfortable experience.

"Do y' mind, _homme_?" He tried for levity and was ignored, though he thought he saw Storm's lip curl upwards a little.

"There's no trace of her on him, Storm. He could have showered though. Even changing would've pretty much destroyed the scent."

Storm moved, lightning coursing at her fingertips, to knock him out. He wrenched himself as far away as possible.

"Look, y' wanna find Rogue? Y' need my help around dese parts."

Wolverine rocked to his feet and glared at him. "And why would you wanna help us, Acolyte?" He bared his teeth, looking every bit like his namesake. Remy smiled thinly as he rose.

"I owe Rogue," he said simply, thinking again of the wide-eyed girl who'd helped him just because she could. "An' you know my line o' work, Wolverine. Y' know where I'm ranked. If I say I can find her, I can find her, an' faster dan you two could all on your lonesome."

When it became clear that that was all he was going to offer them, Wolverine shrugged and sheathed his claws. His posture suggested his opinion of the thief hadn't swayed a bit.

"We don't have any more time ta mess around. You," he growled, pointing at Remy, "If you're set on comin', grab what ya need and follow Storm. You'll listen ta whatever she says and do it. No questions, no messing around or we drop ya back here with a new set of nostrils, got it? We've got four hospitals ta check and not long to do it before someone realizes what we're after."

He left without explanation. If Storm was at all fazed by the last five minutes, it wasn't apparent on her calm, regal face.

"Gambit?" Remy put his shoes back on and shrugged into his coat. He checked the pockets methodically, searching for the feel of his deck and the cool metal of his bo staff. When he found both, he flashed a grin and a thumb's up.

"All set _mam'selle_. Let's save us a damsel in distress."

XxXxXxX

Rogue woke up with a start. Her head pounded vengefully, a vague and eerie counterpart to the fast, angry tattoo of her heart. She blinked, trying to understand the sudden change in her surroundings. Colors swirled, settling into familiar shapes as her eyes began to focus.

She was in a hospital, that much was obvious. _What happened?_ She searched the white ceiling, the crisp sheets, and the blank walls like they held the answer. There was no memory, no flash of recognition, nothing that told her why she was lying in a hospital bed instead of in her own.

There were no monitors attached to her; they were jumbled off to the side as if they had been used and then discarded. Rogue shifted, pushing herself up onto her elbows. Fierce red holes marked the insides of her arms, surrounded by the tiny pinpoints left by a hypodermic needle. She poked them, waiting for a stab of pain that never came.

"Huh," she said aloud. It made her head swirl. "Where am I?" Her voice sounded strange. It was hers, but not, like the time Kurt had recorded her on his phone and the recording came out alien and garbled.

_Someone, someone, anyone_, a voice chanted brokenly in her ear. Rogue twisted to look over her shoulder, looking for the disembodied voice. Even now, she knew there was only one psyche in her head, just one, and his name was Dorian Leech.

_Please, please, it's so dark, please_, the voice whispered. It sounded like a scream. Rogue clapped her hands over her ears.

"Irene? Is anybody here?"

_Can anyone hear me? Where am I?_

"Irene!" Rogue shrieked, not caring if she caused a scene. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. In the back of her mind, dread was growing and swelling, sweeping over her. Something awful had happened.

_Someone, someone, can you hear me? Anyone, please, I'm begging you, I'm done, just let me go! No more, no more, please, someone_, the voice wailed.

"Irene!" Rogue gasped again. She couldn't breathe, she was so scared. Had she touched the assistant? Had she finally gone crazy? Something was terribly, horribly wrong; she could feel it in every inch of her body. Her vision blurred and faded at the edges, then disappeared altogether as Rogue sank back into unconsciousness.

XxXxXxX

"You're clear." Wolverine's voice crackled over Remy's borrowed communicator. The red and gold "X" looked so out of place against his trench that he'd gotten a chuckle out of it before being silenced by Wolverine.

"We copy," Storm replied while Remy tucked his lock picks back into his coat. "We are in radio silence. Out."

Like him, she was dressed in stolen scrubs that he'd slipped out of the back of an ambulance. Unlike him, she actually looked the part. He folded the duster carefully and set it on the concrete roof of the hospital.

"All right," Remy breathed. "Let's do dis." _Doctor, doctor, doctor_, he chanted in his mind. Practical, stiff, exacting, methodical. _Doctor. Right_. Once he had his character set, he blinked to adjust his contacts and held the door open for Storm.

"After you," he said before slipping behind her into the surprisingly dark garret of the Baton Rouge Emergency Clinic.


	5. Chapter 5

Notes from Leo: Again, a whole lot of thanks to those of you who are reading! And, here's your helping of French translations for the chapter. I'm sure most of you know them already, but for those of you who don't...

_Bonjour_ - Hello; literally, good day.

_Bonsoir_ - good evening.

_chère _- my personal favorite, meaning dear. Something treasured or of value.

Chapter Five

I lie inside myself for hours

And watch my purple sky fly over me

Evanescence, Imaginary

"Rogue. Rogue, wake up." Remy kept one eye on Storm and one on the hallway as she leaned over Rogue's unconscious form. After checking the hastily-written charts and examining the silent, discarded machinery, the weather witch had concluded it was all right for them to wake her.

"Rogue?" The girl's eyes flew open, wild and unfocused. "Rogue, can you see me?" She shoved Storm's gloved hand away and pushed herself up. Her entire body soared a foot above the bed.

"Did ya touch me?" she demanded, her voice still garbled with sleep. She twisted out of the sheets, letting them fall into a tangled mass at the foot of the bed. Rogue's voice shot up an octave as she shrieked, "What did ya do? What's wrong with me? _Ah can't fly_!" She glanced around wildly. "Storm something's wrong with me, Ah don't know – "

"Hush Rogue," Storm murmured, hovering until they were at eye level. She gently took the girl's arm and began to sink downward. "Right now we are in danger. We have to leave. You can talk to the professor as soon as we get home, I promise."

"There's someone in mah head," Rogue whispered, sinking until her bare feet touched the tiled floor. Her eyes were still wide with panic. "And Ah don't know who she is."

"We'll figure it out," Storm assured her gently. "Gambit, are we still clear?" Rogue jerked her head around to look at him. Her mouth worked soundlessly as she took in his presence and he tipped his head in silent greeting.

"What's he doin' here?"

"Helping us," Storm told her at the same time Remy said, "We got somebody comin' down de hall."

"Don't do anything; they might just work here," she ordered, tucking one long-sleeved arm under Rogue's to support her. "Will you be able to walk?" Rogue nodded.

The frazzled orderly was walking purposefully down the hallway, checking a chart and mumbling; his eyes never once turned in Remy's direction. He relaxed, letting the man continue on his way without being any the wiser.

Halfway past the door, the man pulled a .45 Glock out of his waistband faster than anyone the thief had ever seen. Only Belladonna, on her best days, came even close. Remy didn't have time to do anything before the shots rang in his ears and pain exploded in his left leg.

Storm let go of Rogue so fast she stumbled backwards onto the bed. There was a crack, and a bolt of blinding white light streaked across the room to hit the orderly square in the chest. He dropped to the floor, his body twisting and his hair lengthening until Mystique lay in his place. A black, branching burn disappeared into the neckline of her shirt.

"Rogue!" Storm's voice rang in his ear. He hadn't heard her cross the room. She slipped an arm beneath Remy's and let him lean most of his weight against her. She was trying to help, but the movement made him groan when his leg shifted. The bright, blossoming blood was all too familiar, and he tried to concentrate on the pain instead.

Storm's face was bloodless and tense as Rogue leaned against the hospital bed, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Already, alarms were ringing in the lower levels.

"I don't t'ink she can make it on her own," he said hoarsely, and Rogue shoved off the bed.

"Ah'm fine." She stumbled, then clutched her head. Storm winced against him, looking torn.

"Rogue? Can you manage?" Down the hall, he could hear someone yelling. Something about all the gates locking down. If his thoughts hadn't been going in a thousand different directions, he would have smiled.

"Yeah, Ah got it." Rogue shuddered and flew over to them, her hazy eyes lingering on Mystique as Storm helped him out the door.

At the emergency exit, Storm blew off the knob of the door and sent the rest of the alarms wailing. Between the two women, they got Remy up the stairs and onto the roof where Wolverine and the jet were waiting.

Wolverine immediately grabbed Rogue's arm and yanked her down to face him, his expression uneasy.

"You're Rogue?" She nodded jerkily. "Hold old are you?"

"Eighteen," she said, her lips barely moving. He let her go and motioned to Storm.

"Stop the bleeding, then fix him up good enough that he won't pass out till we get back. Rogue, you come sit up by me."

Barely a minute later, the Blackbird hummed to life and de-cloaked before turning north toward Xavier's Institute. Rain began to pour over Baton Rouge as the jet faded from sight.

XxXxXxX

Kurt had not seen his sister for three days. Three excruciating days, filled with hushed whispers from the instructors and endless worry. It was only this morning that the professor had explained to Kitty and himself what had happened to Rogue, in order to prepare them to talk to her now. Despite the hour of careful explanation, Kurt didn't think anything could have prepared him for the sight of unflappable Rogue clinging to her knees like they were the only thing holding together. The expression on her face was horrible, both angry and lined with grief.

Kurt sat down next to her on the bed. He didn't know what to make of it. She wasn't crying, she wasn't yelling, she didn't really seem to know they were there. Not sure of what else to do, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. He felt like he should say something, but he couldn't find the right words.

Surprisingly enough, Kitty, on the other side of Rogue's med-bay cot, was quiet also.

"Rogue," the professor said gently, "as soon as Dr. McCoy gives his blessing, you're free to go. We'll talk some other time, when you're feeling up to it."

He turned and disappeared with Storm through the sliding doors, leaving the three of them with their doctor. Dr. McCoy was preoccupied with Gambit's cast and Rogue's CAT scans, and not paying them much notice.

"Rogue, is there anything you want us to do?" Kitty asked quietly, touching her arm. Rogue winced and pulled away from both of them. Her face was still shockingly blank, and it scared him a little.

"If y'all don't mind, Ah'd kinda like some time alone."

"Are you sure?" Kurt asked, reaching to take her hand. She shifted away and nodded.

"Yeah... Ah really appreciate you guys bein' here, but right now's just... not a good time." Her voice broke. It was the only emotion she'd shown at all, and it made him want to protect her from the world. Rogue was the last person who should have had to deal with something like this.

"If you need us, we'll be around," Kitty assured her, ushering Kurt away. He glared at her as they left the med-wing.

"Kitty! Do you really think now is the best time for us to listen to her vhen she starts spewing all that, 'I vant to be alone' crap?" He left out the part where it hurt that she wanted to be by herself, as if it didn't matter that they had been waiting for three days for her to be ready to see them.

"Kurt, when my grandparents died a couple years ago, what I really did want to be alone, and no one listened," Kitty said seriously. "I had people all over me twenty-four seven when all I wanted was time alone to miss them. So maybe we should let Rogue be the judge of what she needs right now."

"Sometimes Rogue doesn't alvays know vhat's best for her," Kurt reminded her as they took the elevator upstairs.

"I know that," Kitty sighed. "Like, sometimes I think even Rogue knows that. But for right now, let's let her do this her way, okay?"

"You know, I vas right before. If I'm right again, I'm two for two." Kitty rolled her eyes at him.

"Let's hope you're not right about this one, fuzzy."

"Yeah, let's hope."

XxXxXxX

Rogue had a feeling the professor already knew about the girl in her head, and she was immensely grateful he'd said nothing. Knowing that Irene was dead was hard enough; she didn't want to try and explain her new powers too.

Thinking about Irene made her whole body ache with misery. It was hard to tell what hurt worse: the fact that she had once been close to Mystique, or the fact that Mystique had been close to her but never bothered to tell Rogue that she was dead. Both thoughts made her eyes tear up, so she buried her head in her knees.

"Rogue, I need you to lift your head up for second, if you don't mind." She did mind, but she did as she was told. Dr. McCoy smiled sympathetically at her and brandished his stethoscope.

"Routine, my dear." He listened to her heart and her breathing, declared both fairly normal, then sat back shine a little light in her eyes.

"How's Gambit?" she asked roughly, blinking as he took the light away. She hadn't thought to ask about him these last few days, even though he had been there to bring her home. Dr. McCoy bared his teeth – his version of a smile - and motioned across the room.

"Ask him yourself."

Rogue made her way over cautiously, unsure of what to say. He looked completely different than the clever, dangerous Acolyte she remembered. Scott's sweats had replaced his uniform and trench coat, and his hair was tied away from his face. He looked almost normal, which was as strange as him being at the Institute in the first place. Gambit grimaced sympathetically when he saw her and lifted a hand.

"_Bonjour_, Rogue. O' rather, _bonsoir_, I guess."

She stood awkwardly before him, suddenly hyperaware of her hair, which hadn't been washed or brushed since dinner at Irene's, and the pajamas Storm had taken out of the laundry. Then she felt the rolling, painful bite of shame at being able to concentrate on those things at all when Irene was dead and there was an unknown girl living inside her head.

"So, Ah guess Ah just wanted ta thank you... for bein' there an' everything. You didn't have to or anything..." Her voice sounded awkward and rough after days of disuse. Rogue decided she would have done almost anything to have Kitty's powers, so she could melt into the floor and disappear.

Gambit chuckled quietly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I know I didn't have to, but I owed you. Not to mention, you're a pretty easy girl t' rescue. 'Course, I didn't make it out without bodily injury, so I guess now y' owe me."

"You on morphine?" she frowned, looking at the IV drip connected to his arm. Her throat felt raw and dry, and she realized with a pang that she preferred unconsciousness and solitude. Trying to go through life like everything was normal was a hassle.

"Yeah, but I'm not too buzzed." And though he looked a tad too comfortable in a strange house, he really didn't seem that out of it. Gambit waved his hand at the edge of the bed. "Go ahead, siddown. I don' bite, less y' want me to." He flashed a leering, lopsided grin.

"Ah don't remember you bein' that fresh," Rogue said finally, taking a seat. She was immensely pleased by how steady her voice sounded. "Is that what bayou water does ta ya?"

"Yup. Bayou breeds irresistibility." He grinned slowly, an impish expression that spread over his entire face. When the silence grew heavy and Rogue was scrambling for something to say, he shifted, sitting up straighter so he could look her in the eye. His smile had faded into a serious, sincere expression that she'd seen last when he'd slipped the Queen of Hearts into her hand in Bloodmoon Bayou.

"I'm real sorry 'bout your mama, Rogue. Dat's tough, all around."

"Yeah," she sighed, biting her bottom lip. "Ah miss her so much. Missed her, Ah guess, since Ah never did get ta talk to her after Ah came up here." That stung, so she stopped talking before her voice could break. She could feel the raging sadness curling around her heart and tightening deep in her chest, waiting for the next chance to strike.

"Did y' wonder why I wasn't around for Apocalypse?" he asked somewhat out of the blue. The morphine was getting to him; Rogue could see his pupils dilating, almost swallowing the burning red behind them.

Still, if she were to be honest, she had wondered. It had struck her as odd that even though Colossus had been torn away from somewhere in the middle of Russia, Gambit, so much closer to home, could not be found.

In the end though, none of that sounded very good when you put it in words, so she settled for a quiet, "Yeah, Ah did."

"I'm sorry."

"That's not an answer," she pointed out a second later, her voice getting steadier by the minute. Gambit smirked again.

"Didn't say I was gonna answer, _chère_." He pierced her with a considering look, then shrugged. "I was in New Orleans, Bombay, Paris. Lotsa places."

"That's a lotta places in a couple weeks," she murmured to herself. "You were in Baton Rouge yesterday, though, not New Orleans. It's close enough... Why didn't ya go home?"

He leaned back onto the pillows, his face closing in on itself. "Why would I? You wanna be where Mystique is?"

"No," she said sharply. That stung, given the events of the last four days. Rogue felt her lips tremble with indignation and something more painful that she couldn't begin to think about. She folded her arms across her stomach, biting down hard on her lower lip.

"Don't cry, _chère_. I'm sorry I said dat. I was outta line." His words slurred together, but his eyes were lucid enough.

"Whatever." Rogue hunched her shoulders and walked stiffly back to the bed.

"I can't go home," he said finally, quietly. Rogue turned to look at him, a little shocked by his frankness. "So I was gettin' as close as I could."

"Ah'm sorry."

"Don't be. S' probably better dis way," he finished wryly, shaking his head. "You know, I saw you, _chère_, on de news. Puttin' away Apocalypse? Dat was some trick."

"The others did the real work," Rogue shrugged, crossing her arms tightly. "Ah don't really like talking about it."

'_Cause the whole thing was mah fault ta begin with_. She turned away from him again, touching her temple. The headache had subsided once Dr. McCoy had given her some aspirin, but she could feel it trying to make a comeback.

"Ah'm gonna head upstairs... do you need anything?" she asked, feeling bad for leaving, but incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of staying. He shook his head and settled back onto the pillows.

"Nope." He flashed another smile, but he looked so tired it was silly rather than charming. "I'll see y' later?"

"Sure," she muttered, heading for the door. "Ah'll stop by later." Rogue turned in time to see his grin widen. She shook her head. The idea of about smiling back crossed her mind, but even the thought felt foreign and inappropriate.

On her way up the stairs Rogue whirled around suddenly, causing her already sore head to throb. When there was no one behind her, she suppressed a shiver. She could have sworn someone had called her name.


	6. Chapter 6

First, a major thank you to everyone who's been reading/reviewing! Second, I'm not sure what exactly a person from Arkansas sounds like. So I improvised. And then thirdly, your French lesson for this chapter:

_chère -_ dear

_non_ - no

_de rien_ - that's okay; it's nothing

Chapter Six

It's like I can't stop what I'm hearing within

It's like the face inside is right beneath my skin

Linkin Park, Papercut

_She sped through the dry Arkansas air, easily making loops around a low-flying commercial jet. Even in late fall, the weather here was perfect for being airborne – pleasantly cool and almost always cloudless. Realizing how high she'd gone, Carol dove straight down, until the cars below were closer to normal-sized. _

"_Miss Danvers!" It was Avery's police chief, Cameron Barre. He was a tall, well-built man, with graying brown hair that reminded her of her father's. She circled and landed lightly in front of him, smoothing her smile into a more serious expression. _

"_Beautiful weather, huh?"_

"_How's the search goin'?" Her face fell, and she pushed a few long, blonde strands of hair out of her eyes. _

"_Not good, sir. There's no sign of her anywhere, and I'm flying as low as I can."_

"_Well, we'll keep tryin'. A couple more days, then we'll call it quits. We're headin' out for tonight, though." At her scowl, he shrugged. _

"_Sorry, Miss Danvers. You can do more if ya want, but I think we're gonna have ta give up on this area. I mean, this is strechin' it. Megan is only five – she probably didn't make it this far."_

"_Yeah, maybe. I'm going to circle around a few more times."_

"_All right. I'm takin' the rest of the crew back toward town."_

"_I'll be back later," she told him, lifting off the ground. "I just have a feeling that she's close."_

_Chief Barre gave her a thin-lipped smile. "Well, those feelin's of yours have helped us before. Maybe you're right."_

_Carol flew over the same area for hours, even going on foot at times. It was pain in the middle of a forest, but it was easier than trying to look through the treetops. Something told her little Megan Lewis was too close to give up on, and she was positive it was only matter of time before there would be something to point her on the right path. _

_It was close to midnight when she landed again, some three hundred feet from the abandoned house where the search had started two days ago. Carol walked up the overgrown path to the crumbling porch, kicking leaves as she went. It was entirely possible she was wrong. She hadn't been before, but if working in Missing Persons had shown her anything, it was that sometimes people couldn't be saved. The idea that it was already too late for Megan made her furious, but there wasn't much more she could do. _

_Carol sat on the rotting porch swing and pushed off the ground lightly. The whole frame quivered and creaked as it rocked. The noise made her think of something, but in the next second she couldn't remember what. _

_Feeling like she was wasting time, Carol hoisted herself inside through the broken window. The door had been boarded shut years ago, and smashing her way in sounded incredibly unappealing. _

_Dust and dried leaves plumed at her feet as she wandered through the living room. The whole place smelled sickly sweet, probably a combination of mold and decay. She searched the house methodically, opening rusted cabinet doors and checking in upturned storage boxes, even though police had done the same not more than forty-eight hours ago. _

"_I know she's here," Carol said quietly, as if saying the words would make them true. Her voice sounded empty in the dank darkness of the house. _

_She sank to the floor, sighing as it gave a little under her weight. Across the room, she could see the hollows of her face reflected in a broken mirror. In the moonlight, she looked like someone else entirely. _

_A thought struck her so suddenly she gasped. Experimentally, she pressed her palm against the floor. The wood groaned, curving and splintering to fit her hand. Even in the darkness, she could see crumbling plaster and moldering beams. _

_Carol jumped to her feet and prowled the room again, her mind racing. The house was built right onto the ground. If the wood was giving, then there was a cellar. All she had to do was find the way in. _

_She pushed a bookshelf to the opposite end of the room and began to search the wall, feeling along for anything that didn't fit with the uniform feel of peeling paint. Nothing. Cursing under her breath, she moved on to the kitchen, throwing abandoned glassware out of the largest cupboards and clearing out the pantry. It was the obvious choice; it was big enough for her to fit inside if she twisted the right way. There was nothing. Carol sank to her knees and sighed. She had to think. There wasn't much more to the lower level, just a bathroom and a mudroom. Both of those floors were tiled. _

_She ran her fingers over the dusty floor and coughed. It was probably time to call it a day. She could tell the department tomorrow what she found and they would take it from there. They wouldn't come tonight. They tolerated her, but they didn't trust her. She didn't have any evidence that Megan was here, just a gut feeling. _

_Carol sighed. If she was still alive, and by some chance she happened to be here, then hopefully one more night wouldn't hurt. Without a door, it would take an excavation crew to dig up the floor. Carol groaned in frustration. She was easily strong enough to take out the floor herself, but not without having the entire cellar cave in. _

_Her fingers hit something hollow, and her heart stopped. It was a knob, or rather, the space where one had been. She crawled out of the pantry and hooked her fingers into the hole. The entire floor cracked and caved, revealing a shoddy set of stairs. _

_Carol felt like whooping and dancing and flying. She allowed herself to whirl around the room once, giddy with success. She knew, in the back of her mind, that the little girl might not even be down there, but she refused to think of the possibility. There was probably another entrance outside that had been missed; some other way her kidnapper would have taken her down there. _

_She didn't bother with the stairs. She shimmied through the broken door and flew down the stairs, inhaling a heavy scent – the smell of dirt and wet things. She wrinkled her nose and landed at the bottom, mentally gagging as her feet sunk into the dirt floor. _

_There was no light to speak of, only the pinpoint that came from the shattered door. She felt for the flashlight in her coat pocket and flicked it on. The weak light illuminated about three feet in front of her. _

"_Megan?" she tried. She took a few steps forward, fighting the irrational fear of whatever might be in the dark, musty corners. She'd never liked the dark, even after her powers had manifested. There was a scuffling sound that made her think of every horror movie she had ever watched. _

"_Megan?" she asked again, forcing her voice not to shake. There were very few things that could hurt her, and none of them could be found in a dirty cellar. She shined the flashlight into the darkness, and caught a flicker of movement on the edges of the misty light. _

"_Megan, my name is Carol Danvers, I work with the police department here. You're safe now, it's okay." She ignored the fact that she could very well be talking to a raccoon. _

"_Hi?" The voice was so small she might've missed it. Carol stepped closer and saw the shine of dirty, dark hair. _

"_Hey there Megan," she said soothingly. She stepped over and kneeled down. The wavering beam of the flashlight highlighted Megan's frightened blue eyes and bruised cheek. Her heart went out to the little girl, and she gently tugged the little body into a sitting position. _

"_Carol?"_

"_Hmm?" She tore the rope at Megan's wrists and ankles, and untied the gag from where it had fallen around her neck. _

"_What if they come back?" Her high, lisping voice was terrified. _

"_They won't," she promised, gently lifting the girl into her arms. "I'm glad I found you. Your parents have been really worried. They told me your puppy misses you too. Do you think he's going to be excited to see you?"_

_Megan's face was wary, but she rested her head against Carol's shoulder. "Yes," she answered with finality. Her eyes grew wide and filled slowly with a child's unwavering trust. "I'm glad ya found me."_

"_Me too."_

"_Can ya get my blanket? I wasn't supposed ta have it with me, but I did." Megan smiled shyly at her. _

"_Sure, hon." Carol swung the flashlight in a wide circle and found the battered yellow square. "This it?"_

"_Yep," Megan answered, tucking it between their faces. "I've had it since I was two."_

"_Really?" Carol maimed walking up the stairs. She was actually about an inch off the ground, but she didn't want Megan panicking and she didn't want the stairs caving in on them. The poor kid was already traumatized enough; she didn't want to make it any worse. _

_Once outside, she rearranged Megan and looked her in the eyes. "Megan, have you ever seen Peter Pan?"_

"_Yes." Her eyes were sagging shut, and her hands were clenched tight around her blanket. _

"_You know how he flies? Well, I can do that too, but only if it won't scare you." Megan shook her head sleepily against Carol's shoulder. Her blanket rode up between their faces as Carol lifted into the air. _

"_You still comfortable?" She felt the little girl nod. _

_On the edge of the forest, by a long stretch of highway, Carol landed in the ditch. She felt weird, tired and heavy, like the air couldn't hold her up any longer. She sat on the cool grass and tucked her head between her knees. She tried to remember what high school health said about how to prevent fainting. Breathe in through your nose; breathe out through your mouth. Relax. _

_Megan crawled in between her legs and rested her head on Carol's knee. "Are ya feeling bad?"_

_She closed her eyes and let her arms sag against her knees. "Yeah. I'm gonna sit for a minute or two, and then we'll head back to the police station."_

_Megan smiled. "Just a minute?"_

"_Promise."_

"_Good." Carol blinked. In that instant, she knew something was wrong with her. She could have sworn Megan's eyes were blue. _

Rogue woke drenched in sweat with her heart beating furiously in her chest.

"Carol Danvers," she whispered. The name sent shivers down her spine and made goose bumps break out all over her body. She didn't want to know about this girl's life. She didn't want know Carol's fears or see Carol's job or remember Carol's parents. What she did want was to forget that the other girl existed. Rogue rolled over and jammed the pillow against her head, hoping that it could block out Carol Danvers' memories until morning.

XxXxXxX

The next morning was a bright, crisp Sunday, and exactly a week and a half since Rogue's kidnapping. Tomorrow she had school again. The thought made her feel sick and irritable, so she spent most of the morning outside in the courtyard. The March air was brisk, but not unbearable, especially since she never felt cold anymore.

It was Logan who came looking for her after she missed training. She'd forgotten she'd told him she was ready to head out with the team again. He sat down beside her on the bench, folding his arms across his chest.

"You doing okay?" he asked gruffly when the silence stretched. Rogue shrugged her shoulders.

"Yeah, Ah guess."

"Then why weren't you in training with everyone else?"

"Why do you think?" she snapped, glaring at him. "Ah know the professor told you about mah powers."

"Yeah, he did."

"So Ah changed mah mind. Ah don't exactly want ta explain them ta everybody right now," she said sourly. Logan sighed and leaned into the wooden bench, closing his eyes.

"Stripes, was what happened your fault?"

Rogue eyed him suspiciously, too hurt and too bitter to wonder what he was getting at. "What part? Trustin' Irene? Gettin' myself kidnapped? Killin' someone?" She scuffed her shoes against the pavement rubbed a hand roughly across her eyes.

"Well?"

"Yes. No. Ah don't know." She blinked fiercely, digging her teeth into her lower lip. Logan placed a hand on her shoulder, and for the first time in a week, Rogue endured the contact.

"None of that was your fault, Rogue. Could you have prevented some of it? Maybe, but ya can't blame yourself for it either."

"So Ah just go on like normal, with Irene dead an' knowin' Ah killed a girl?"

"No." He sighed, glancing at her. Whatever he saw there made him shake his head, his face a little sad. "What happened made you different. It changed you, and it's gonna keep changing you. There's nothin' the professor or Storm or I can do about that. But you're a strong kid, Stripes. It's up ta you not ta let it take away the important things."

"Ah don't know if Ah can do that, Logan. Ah'm not like you." She got up, wrapping her arms around herself. Logan followed.

"Thank God," he cracked, and she offered him a half-smile. "Look, I'm not sayin' you should forget what happened, Rogue. In fact, that's the last thing I'm sayin'. You just make sure it doesn't take over your life."

"Okay. Ah'll... Ah'll try."

"Just 'okay'? It was that easy?" he asked, barking a laugh. Rogue rolled her eyes.

"Sometimes Ah'm not that difficult."

"Yeah, sometimes," he agreed. They walked back to the mansion in comfortable silence. As Logan headed toward the Danger Room for the New Recruits' session, he added sourly, "I stopped by the med bay this morning. Gambit was yammerin' on and on askin' where you were."

Rogue ducked her head and fought a smile. He had been asking for her at least once a day, claiming that she owed him. She didn't mind, much. It was almost too easy to talk to Gambit. He was so easygoing and friendly that she could forget the rest of her life was falling apart. It made her wonder what the catch was.

"Ah think Ah'll head down there. See ya later, Logan." He grunted and waved her away. Feeling somewhat lighter, Rogue made her way down to the infirmary.

XxXxXxX

Remy was re-shuffling his cards for another game of Solitaire when the sliding doors hissed open.

"Hey Rogue," he guessed, not bothering to look up. His wounded leg was aching something fierce, which put him in a less than hospitable mood.

"Hey Gambit," she greeted. "Ya winning?"

"Hard not to," he said with a shrug. Looking up, the first things he noticed were her red-rimmed, overly bright eyes. It was hardly unusual, given what she was going through, but he felt he had to ask.

"Tough day?"

"Better than the rest o' the week, actually," she countered, sitting on the foot of the bed. "Ah was thinking of goin' ta training tonight." He could read the hesitation and fear in her posture, so he scooped the cards into a sloppy pile and put them off to the side.

"Not sure what dey'll say?" he tried. She nodded and he grinned. "Point f' me."

"My life's a game for you? Gee, thanks," Rogue retorted. She bit her bottom lip, her face broadcasting her emotions clearer than words. The stoic set of her jaw was the hurt over the loss of her foster mother and the anger at Mystique for betraying her again. The press of her lips was her hesitation with this new twist to her powers and the line between her eyebrows was the fear that her teammates would be afraid of her because of it. _Face like dat, girl would make a terrible Thief_, he thought before he could stop it.

"You'll never be able t' play poker, _chère_. Dat face o' yours is de worst tell I've ever seen – ever."

"Great." Her arms were wrapped so tightly around her stomach it looked like she was trying to sink into herself. Remy leaned forward and caught her elbow, unraveling her.

"Don't worry about it. Dey're your family. Dey won't care." His own family was a different story entirely.

"Easy for you ta say," she sighed, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Remy lay back against the pillow, smiling because she was, and decided not to correct her. "I'm gettin' out tomorrow," he announced. Rogue raised her eyebrows.

"What do ya mean? Ya aren't thinking of trying ta drive, are ya?" she asked with a dubious look at his cast-covered leg.

"_Non_, 'course not. Just meant dat I'll be outta de med bay." Rogue glanced at him with a strange look on her face.

"So... you're staying?" He grinned at the hopeful dip in her voice.

"For a while, if your professor don't mind. Haven't brought it up wit' him yet."

"Ah wouldn't worry. He doesn't turn anybody away, so long as they've got decent intentions, ya know? But Ah suppose you'll have ta find a way to keep yourself busy all day. It gets pretty boring with everyone gone." Remy blinked, unsure of what she meant.

"Y' got school? Didn't y' graduate already?"

"Not till summer. Couple more months."

"Y're so young," he sighed melodramatically. Rogue swatted his good leg, shaking her head.

"In comparison ta who? You?" she asked incredulously.

"Tell me y' name, I'll tell y' my age," he bargained. She rolled her eyes.

"Not likely. If Ah was givin' out my name you'd be the last person Ah'd tell, Gambit." It came out much more sharply than she'd intended, and his eyes widened in surprise.

"Ouch, harsh. What'd I do?"

"Nothin'," Rogue sighed. "That wasn't very nice. Sorry."

"_De rien_. I'll live. Y' can call me Remy, by de way. Most people I'm on speakin' terms with don't call me Gambit."

"Oh." She looked down, wringing her hands in her lap. "Okay. So... Remy. Do ya want me ta give ya the grand tour when you get out tomorrow? It's kinda hard ta find your way around for the first couple of days." Beneath her make-up, he thought he saw a burst of pink in her cheeks.

"Dat'd be great, Rogue. I'll meet y' here once y' get done with school."

"Like you have a choice," she retorted, a grin tugging at her lips. "Ah'll see ya tomorrow then." She hurried out, leaving Remy alone with more on his mind than he cared to admit.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Hello all! Happy belated Halloween :)

And here's today's French lesson, it's all fairly basic (and hopefully right):

_docteur -_ doctor

_merveilleux -_ marvelous

_Je suppose que oui -_ I suppose so

_oui -_ yes

Things do not change; we change.

~ Henry David Thoreau

Rogue slammed the door to the van, sending paint chips fluttering over the wet pavement. Kitty phased through the other side to walk along next to her.

"Rogue, are you sure you can do this?" she asked, shouldering her backpack. "I'm sure the professor would let you stay home today."

Rogue shrugged and shook her head. "Ah'd rather be here than at the Institute."

Icy rain, not quite snow and not quite water, stuck to her face and went up her nose every time she took a breath. The wet, unpleasant feeling reminded her of crying. She scrubbed a hand across her face.

Kitty began to chatter absent-mindedly about Lance, using her foot to crack each puddle of ice they came across. At the last one before the stairs, she pressed down slowly, until the ice spider-webbed and crumbled into a slushy mess.

"You're not listening to me, are you?"

Rogue smiled crookedly. "Sure Ah am. Lance is an idiot. Lance has a new girlfriend. Lance's new girlfriend is stupid."

Kitty blushed and sighed. "I'm pretty predictable, huh?"

"Only when it comes ta that loser."

"He's not a loser, Rogue." The younger girl shivered and hugged herself, but her voice was heated.

"Ah'm kidding. Mostly, anyhow."

"I know," Kitty admitted, "I just wish everyone else wouldn't talk about him like that. He's not so bad, you know?"

"Aside from the fact that he's an idiot and his girlfriend is stupid."

"Right. Wanna head to English? I'm freezing out here!" Kitty tumbled up the stairs without her. Rogue trailed after her lazily, even as her stomach clenched. She'd wanted things to go back to normal, and so here she was. This was normal. It was also unexpectedly, incredibly hard.

They took their seats in English, toward the back of the class where they couldn't be called on too often or too infrequently. Rogue played with a loose string on her glove while she waited for the first bell to ring.

_Girl, girl, untouchable girl, rogue, Rogue? Is that your name, a girl named Rogue? Is it is it I need to know_, Carol whispered. Rogue stiffened, every muscle in her body freezing and her blood running cold. _Don't talk to me_, she thought on instinct. _Just go away_. She folded her arms and tightened her grip on them until she felt the tingle that meant she was cutting off her circulation.

Memories welled up, unbidden and unwelcome: Carol getting ready for a date, Carol searching for a lost child, Carol's family celebrating Thanksgiving in a bright, lively home. _Rogue? Rogue is that your name? Carol, my name is Carol, Carol Danvers, please, can you hear me? I think you can hear me, please, I think you can hear._

She didn't want to. She wouldn't. Kitty must have noticed the strained look on her face, because she put down her book and asked, "Something wrong?"

"One of the psyches," Rogue answered. Kitty nodded and sat back. The rest of the class was filing in, chatting loudly and sprawling into their seats.

"Is it... you know? The girl?" She tapped the side of her head discreetly.

Rogue shrugged. "Ah guess."

She looked away, pretending she couldn't see the worry and curiosity warring on Kitty's face. The brief explanation she'd given the team last night had been a sad excuse for honesty. It had been the barest outline of what had happened and nothing more, mostly because she couldn't bring herself to say it. Saying things, she'd noticed lately, only made them more real.

"All right guys," Mr. Anderson greeted them, clapping his hands together after the bell trilled. "Break is _over_. And you know what that means: Back to work. Today we're going to start our brief unit on classical English literature. That means Jack London, the Bronte sisters, and Robert K. Gordon, among others. And, before any of you complain, makes jokes, or insert your little snide comments, you can forget about it. These authors were paragons among writers and their stories will be taken seriously. Mark." He looked pointedly at a wiry kid in the front row, who was already smirking. "Are we clear?" He received a few lukewarm nods. "All right, we'll start by passing out this list of well-known authors and their works. Please open your textbooks to page 237..."

_Please, I think you can hear me, can you hear me? Rogue, my name is Carol_. Rogue accepted the sheet of paper from Kitty and opened her book, ignoring the pleading voice in her head.

XxXxXxX

Remy hobbled his way around the room on crutches, wincing as each step jarred his injured leg.

"Remind me, _docteur_, how long is dis gonna last?" The ape-like man known as Beast loped over to the computer and motioned for Remy to follow.

"Well, I feel I must ask first: Do you understand the extent of your injury? It would be easier to explain the recovery process if you did."

Remy shrugged. "Mystique blew m' leg open an' broke it?"

He was pretty sure he saw the doctor roll his eyes. "This is your tibia," Beast said as an X-ray appeared. "This is where the bullet went in, very cleanly I might add," he pointed to a small, nearly invisible hole in the shadow of his leg, and then the shattered pieces of bone that glared white on the screen. "And this is the fracture that resulted." He traced a thin gray line up from the middle to almost the top of the bone. "You're quite lucky, in that the bullet only grazed the bone. All in all, it's a rather minor fracture, and with the bone fragments removed you should make a clean recovery."

Remy grimaced. "But dis is gonna take a while t' heal."

The doctor shook his head. "It depends. I believe you'll be out of the cast in about three months, given that the bullet mostly hit muscle and tissue, and the fracture is so well-aligned. The only thing your body has to do is re-grow the bone in your tibia. The rehab after that, however, is another three to five months for general mobility, and at least a year before you'll be back in the shape you were in."

"_Merveilleux_," Remy intoned dryly.

"I'm sure you'll be able to make the most of the situation, Mr. LeBeau," came Professor Xavier's voice from the doorway. "Sit down; there are a few things I'd like to discuss with you."

Remy sat and set the crutches on the floor next to him. "Y' need me out of here, sir?" Given the amount of times the X-men had been on receiving of one of his cards, Remy wouldn't blame the man.

"No, of course not. Your welcome is extended as long as you need." At the thief's raised brows, Professor Xavier smiled. "What I was actually going to suggest was, firstly, that you consider joining the team once your injuries have healed. Your abilities and control are highly admirable, and I, for one, would be glad to have you. You don't need to come to a conclusion anytime soon, but know that the offer is there." The old man's expression turned thoughtful as he continued, "And secondly, I wondered if you would be open to contracting a job."

"A job?"

_I'm quite familiar with the New York Thieves Guild, Mr. LeBeau_, he projected, raising an eyebrow. _I assume the Guild of New Orleans operates much the same way?_

"I'm not exactly... connected to de business right now, but _oui_," he said carefully, "dey work pretty much the same. How's a law-abiding man like yourself get involved wit' people like us?" he asked, deeply curious.

The professor smiled without answering. "The pay would be equal to what a current member would be offered, and I would be happy to let you continue to live at the Institute."

"You'd be happy t' let a man a' my occupation live at y' school?" Remy asked with a bemused smile.

"Despite your past actions, I do not believe you are a threat to the welfare of my students. And of course, outside what I ask from you, you would be strictly adhering to the law."

"S' a good offer, sir. We'd have t' be in agreement, o' course, on the terms of my coming and going, and how closely y'all are allowed t' keep tabs on me."

"Naturally."

"An' I'm not slappin' on a uniform as soon as I'm healed up."

"I didn't expect you to."

"I don't take orders from nobody but you."

"And Logan, and Storm."

"_Je__ suppose __que __oui_." Remy studied the professor, weighing his options. He had no doubt the pay and benefits would be excellent. It was the idea of being committed to this place and these people that gave him a pause. He'd done the same for Magneto and his family, and neither had ended well.

"Read through this, and see what you think. I have something else to attend to, but I'll be back down this afternoon, if you've decided by then. If you haven't, well, it's not urgent. I would like an answer within the next few weeks." He handed Remy a packet of papers; what looked like the standard information and conditions of a contract.

"I'll take a look, Professor." Remy searched the table by his bed and found a pen. He began to skim over the first page, a grin forming as he realized how well thought-out it was. He had to hand it to Charles Xavier – for an idealistic do-gooder, the man definitely knew what he was doing.

XxXxXxX

_Where am I, what happened, how long, it can't have been that long can it? Home, please; I'll do anything if I can just go home_.

Rogue tugged hard on a lock of white hair, a worry line appearing between her brows as she tried to block Carol's endless, choked mantra. It was the middle of lunch, the cafeteria was packed, and she had a headache that was making her temples throb. _Ah shouldn't have come back today_, she thought over and over again. _Ah should have just stayed home_. The Institute did not come to mind. Instead, a thousand images of a beautiful white house on 118th Street in Boston, Massachusetts filled her head. She knew every room like the back of her hand; she could have told you where to find the Windex and where the towels went, and she had never been there in her life.

_Someone tell me what happened, please, I just need to know if I'm dead or alive, am I alive or dead? Someone knows, you do, please tell me, please_.

Rogue hated watching Carol's life. It was a thousand times worse than the psyches, with their flickering recollections and meaningless dialogue. It was creeping into the other girl's life like some invisible stalker; watching her memories like they were no more sacred than TV re-runs.

_Rogue, listen to me, listen. I'm here, I don't know where, it's so dark but you can hear me, I know you can hear me. He said you could, the little boy said you could hear. I need to know where I am; I need to tell my family. Please I need to tell them, please, they need to know_.

She didn't think about the consequences. She didn't wonder, _what if someone saw_, or, _what will the Professor think_? Rogue slipped through the cafeteria doors and crept behind the dumpsters, where ice still coated the pavement. The air outside was frigid and froze in her lungs. She suppressed a shiver when the biting cold didn't make her skin break out in goose bumps.

After a moment of doubt – they were, under no circumstances, supposed to use their powers on school grounds – she soared into the gloomy winter sky. Instantly, Carol's inner monologue quieted, and a deep sense of calm fell over both of them. Wrapped in the rolling gray clouds, Rogue felt her worries fade and settle. They were there, but no longer suffocating her.

Rogue drifted for a moment, experimenting. The heavy mist clung to her clothes as she drifted in different directions, and she was surprised to find it felt like she'd been flying her whole life. Upset by the thought, she shot in the direction of Xavier's Institute, cutting a line of clear sky in the heavy clouds.

XxXxXxX

"Rogue, I know you realize using your powers at school is a basis for getting all of you expelled." Professor Xavier's voice was stern, edging on disappointed. "You know if you need to come home, you can call the Institute."

Rogue squirmed in the leather chair, feeling her face flush with shame. "Ah know. Ah'm sorry."

His gaze softened. "It's all right. It was understandable, given the circumstances. If it happens again, though, go to the office. One of us will give you a ride home." He waited to see if she was going to say anything. When she didn't, he continued, "I think perhaps now is a good time to discuss what is going to happen to Carol."

Rogue flinched and gaped at him with startled eyes. "How do ya know her name?"

"I can sense her as I can you or anyone else. Otherwise, I would have asked to scan your mind a week ago to make sure her presence wasn't a threat to your well-being."

"Oh." Rogue wrapped her arms around herself. "Is she... you know?" Her entire body tensed, waiting to hear confirmation of her worst fears.

"No, Rogue. Carol is still alive. With Mystique in prison, I had her transferred to a hospital in New York."

"So she's fine?" She held her breath, hardly daring to believe it. The professor shook his head and frowned.

"In the loosest sense of the word, yes. She's alive, but comatose." He sounded like he was choosing his words carefully. Rogue glared and curled her hands into loose fists.

"Comatose? Comatose like Cody was?" It sounded like an accusation.

"Not exactly. According to the neurologist, she appears to be brain dead," he offered softly. "I'm sorry, Rogue. There's nothing I can do at this point. It would take someone with twice my abilities to help bring Carol back to the way she was."

She let out a quiet cry. "Can't ya just put her back? You're a telepath, ya should be able ta fix this!" Rogue shouted. He didn't react, just gazed at her levelly and waited for her to calm down. She wanted him to be as scared and sad and angry as she was, and he just _sat there_. Rogue jumped to her feet, knocking the chair over in the process.

"This isn't fair, not fo' either of us! Ah don't want her in mah head and she shouldn't have ta be there," she spat, like explaining the problem would make him realize he could fix it.

"Rogue, come down." Without realizing it, she'd levitated a few feet off the plush carpet. She dropped to the ground, immediately ashamed, and set the chair back in its place.

"This isn't fair," she said finally.

"No, it isn't," he agreed. He came around the front of the desk and took Rogue's gloved hand. The gentle pressure was supposed to be comforting. All made her think of was her deadly, treacherous skin. "But the least we can do is let Carol know what happened and try to make you both as comfortable as possible."

"Could you make me forget? Could ya just put the whole thing somewhere else in mah mind, like we did with the psyches?"

He looked at her, startled, before nodding stiffly. "Yes," he said slowly, "I could."

She lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug and tugged her hand away. "Ah don't think Ah want you to, Ah just... Ah wanted ta know. In case it gets ta be too much."

The professor looked almost relieved, and there was a sad sort of pride in his expression. "Close your eyes and concentrate then. It's time for us to meet Carol."

Rogue closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. Like she always did when the professor entered her mind, she slowly exhaled and focused on an image of home.

XxXxXxX

A/N - A little explanation on Remy's injury. Basically, his condition derives from an incident one of my guys friends got into last year. One of his hunting friends accidently shot him in the leg, and ended up chipping the tibia (which, for those of you who don't know, is the front part of your shin). However, when he fell, the "chipped" part of the bone cracked further, resulting in a broken leg. So what it boils down to is: Hank was being tactful by not telling Remy that he mostly broke his leg by falling, and not entirely because Mystique shot him.

I think that's it. I'm not a medical student, but that's the general idea.

Take care all, and thanks for letting me ramble ~

Leo


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Hello all! There's not a lot of French in this chapter but surprise! I made up for it by putting in some German ;)

_liebe schwester -_ dear sister

_hoer mal_ - listen

_ja_ - yes

And, you know these already but...

_oui_ - yes

_mam'selle_ - shortened version of mademoiselle, or miss

_petit_ - little one

Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings – always darker, emptier, and simpler.

~ Friedrich Nietzsche

Being inside her mind was disconcerting. The foggy, imprecise feeling was enveloping, to the point where she couldn't remember how to flex her fingers or blink her eyes. The darkness was absolute, and it didn't bother her. She felt as if she could float like this forever, disconnected from her body, tucked away quietly in her own thoughts.

_Rogue. Focus. This is yours. Bring me where you would like us to be. Picture it and make it exist_.

She grasped at memories and far-off feelings, slowly building a cloudy picture of Irene's house in Mississippi. It appeared in pieces, familiar and foreign at the same time. Here, the white siding glowed and the smell of damp flowers and newly cut grass was overpowering. It was every moment she had spent there forced into one, undying alcove in her head.

_Good_. The professor appeared beside her, his eyes gentle. "Perhaps we should go in," he suggested. Rogue wrapped her arms around her stomach and led the way up to the door.

Inside it was sunny and bright, a summer day from sometime during her childhood. The walls were a light, cheerful yellow, a color they had not been since her ninth birthday, and the table was even older than that. Rogue brought them to her room at the end of the hall and sat on the bed, folding her arms around one of her stuffed animals. The room in her mind was a little girl's room, with a fluffy white coverlet on the small bed and toys strewn across the floor. Her real room had never looked quite like this.

"What am Ah supposed to do?" she asked finally.

The professor closed his eyes briefly, concentrating. "Carol is close. Try asking for her, she will probably respond better to you."

Rogue squeezed the bear in her lap and closed her eyes tightly. "Carol?" she asked in a whisper. When nothing happened, some of her apprehension faded, leaving her feeling stupid.

"Rogue?" The world around them shattered. Rogue found herself hanging in darkness, something like the night sky. Obscure points of light swept against her, to numerous to count as they danced against her skin and then shimmered over to the professor.

"Rogue?" Carol appeared slowly out of the darkness, in shadowy fragments. First the smooth oval of her face, then the long line of her body, finally her blue eyes and blond hair. She blinked slowly, adjusting to the light. "Are you Rogue?" she asked, and her voice was startlingly familiar.

"Hi," she said quietly, feeling the burn of nonexistent tears. It was impossible to cry inside her mind, but it didn't stop her body from trying.

"Rogue, if you could bring us back," Professor Xavier prompted, "for simplicity's sake."

She nodded and her room reappeared. The colors were darker this time, the walls a light gray and everything else in deep purple or navy. She sat on the end of the bed and Carol followed, uncertainty written all over her face.

"Where are we? I was in a hospital the last I remember, and they were planning on doing something… I never found out what." Carol glanced from her to the professor, her blue eyes unnervingly bright. "Does this have something to do with what they were planning?"

"Rogue," Professor Xavier asked kindly, "would you like me to explain?"

"No," she said resolutely. "No. Carol, Ah don't know how ta tell you what happened, because Ah… Ah don't remember most of it. But mah powers, they absorb parts of people when Ah touch their skin – their energy, their powers, their memories." Rogue paused, tugging at the gloves that covered her fingers. She stared at them when she continued, unable to look at Carol. "Ah guess Ah'd take their life, if Ah held on long enough. Ah don't know."

Doubt flickered in Carol's eyes, hardening her pretty face. "And?"

"Ah must have touched you long enough for you ta be all here. Not dead," she said faintly, "just… here."

"All here?" Carol's brows furrowed and she mouthed the words again to herself. "But that's impossible. It's impossible. It isn't possible, is it? I'm not really _here_, that's just… figurative… right?" She glanced between the two of them desperately. Rogue couldn't bring herself to answer her.

"Ah'm sorry," she said brokenly. "Ah'm so sorry, Carol."

"How could you?" Carol's voice shattered the silence. "Please tell me this isn't happening. This isn't happening."

"Carol, we will try to do everything we can to make this right," Professor Xavier told her. "But for now, try to remember that this was not Rogue's fault."

"So, let me get this straight? I'm _in_ her head. But my body is somewhere else."

"Yes," the professor said carefully. Carol hugged herself tightly, trembling.

"No, no, no," she crooned, rocking herself. "This is impossible."

"Carol," Professor Xavier said, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, "There are options to consider. This is not the end of anything." His voice was soothing and practical, the same voice he used to calm his students over more minor things.

"I promise," the professor said when she looked up from under her hair, "that we will find a way for this to work, at least temporarily."

"Will I ever be in my own body again?" she asked slowly. It was barely a whisper, and Rogue felt her heart break. Because of her, this girl was suffering a fate as terrible as death: A half-life seen through someone else's eyes, a prisoner inside their thoughts.

"Carol, I will do everything I can to have you in your own body again. Until then, though, I need your word you will cooperate with Rogue and I, and help us both to the best of your ability."

"Is it dangerous for you, to have me in here?" Carol's eyes, overfull but no less piercing, searched the other girl's face.

"It hurts," Rogue said finally, quietly, "because it's so much more than Ah'm used to. But no, it's not dangerous, Ah don't think."

"Oh."

"Carol, do I have your word, then?" the professor asked. The young woman hugged herself, looking at her feet. Her face was split between shock and resolve as she nodded.

"You have my word that I'll help you both as much as I can, as long as I can expect the same from you."

"You can," Rogue said, surprising them all. "We'll do everythin' ta get you back, Carol. Ah promise."

Carol offered her a small, bittersweet smile. "Then I guess I promise too."

XxXxXxX

Kurt appeared in her room exactly ten minutes after school ended at three thirty-five. Rogue woke from a light doze to the stench of brimstone, and blinked to see her brother poised on the end of her bed.

"Hey, _liebe schwester_. Vhen did you get home? It must have been early, if you veren't in French." He somersaulted neatly onto the foot of her bed. "Not such a great day, huh?"

Rogue sighed and propped herself on her elbows. "Nope, not a good day. But the professor and Ah sorted things out with Carol."

"The girl?" She nodded. "Vell, that's something, then. One less thing for you to have on your mind."

"Literally," she joked half-heartedly, falling back onto the pillow. Her hair fanned out against the pillow, and she began to absent-mindedly braid the white streaks that fell in front of her eyes. Her gloves made it surprisingly difficult. "Do ya have any idea what Ah missed today?"

"I heard there was a quiz in English from Lance, but he's not in your class, right?"

"No, he is."

"Lance – Lance Alvers who lives at the Brotherhood house and hangs around in juvie in his spare time – is in Honors English?" Kurt asked incredulously. "That Lance?"

"What's wrong with that?" she asked more heatedly than she meant to. "He's not a bad kid, and he's a lot smarter than you'd think."

"_Ja_, vell, pardon me if I don't see it. Alvers and the rest of them are bad news. Are you positive he doesn't have a twin or something?"

"Gee, why didn't Ah think of that," Rogue countered moodily. She rolled over and buried her face in the crook of her elbow. Kurt sensed the shift in conversation, and his smile faded.

"Sorry, Rogue. I'm trying to keep things as normal as possible, and normally I don't stick up for the Brotherhood. Vhat do you vant to talk about?"

"Not school. Not the Brotherhood." After a long pause, she felt him flop down beside her on the bed. She shifted away, but didn't snap at him like she usually would have.

"Vhat vas Irene like?" he asked, still staring at the ceiling. "You never really talked about her."

Rogue settled her chin on her forearm, thinking. "She was strict," she answered quietly, "but it never bothered me much. She was a terrible cook; she liked ta laugh because she said she had everything she ever wanted. Ah don't know how to describe it... she was almost like a mom ta me."

There was another long stretch of silence before Kurt offered, "_Hoer mal_, I know I've said this a hundred times before, but I'm sorry. Truly, Rogue. I can't imagine how hard this is for you."

"Thanks." Rogue lifted her head and offered him a small smile. It was clear and warm, so unlike her usual expressions that she could tell she'd caught him off guard.

"Vhat are brothers for?" he asked, smiling back. After a few minutes sitting quietly together, he added, "Scott and Jean are coming home tonight. Ve're having an all-inclusive sit-down dinner."

"Are they gonna be home all week?"

"Yeah. For stability's sake, according to vhat I heard from Storm."

"Eavesdropping, huh?"

"Accidentally overhearing."

"Hmph." Rogue buried her face in her arm.

"It's almost four-thirty, vhich means I should probably get back down to the kitchen," Kurt announced apologetically. "Do you vant to come?"

"Nah, that's fine. You're cookin'? Should Ah be scared?" Rogue teased. Her voice had lost its rough edge, and her eyes sparkled with amusement instead of held-back tears. Kurt punched her lightly in the shoulder.

"I happen to be an excellent cook. Not that it'll matter anyway, vith Gambit there no one's going to be concentrating on the food."

Rogue shot to her feet. "Oh, shoot!"

"Vhat?"

"Never mind," she told him, straightening out her hair in the mirror. "Ah'll see ya at dinner, okay?"

"Okay. Sure. See you then, I guess." Kurt bamphed out of the room, prompting Rogue to spray her wrists with perfume. _Remy_. How could she have forgotten?

XxXxXxX

It took Rogue two self-conscious trips up, down, and around the mansion before she managed to find Remy. It would have taken her less time, but she couldn't bear the thought of asking around to see where he'd gone. It wasn't as if she was some lovesick girl trailing after him like a lost puppy.

When she slipped into the rec room, she was a little surprised to find that the Cajun had collected an entourage – Ray, Bobby, and Amara were more or less sprawled around him, while Jean was sitting on the opposite end of the couch. While some attention was on the movie, most of it was centered on Remy, who seemed to be enjoying the whole ordeal. Rogue was about to turn and leave, feeling faintly jealous, when he called her name.

"Rogue, y' missed my tour. What gives?" He grinned widely, apparently not offended. Trapped, Rogue slid back into the room.

"Hey, Rogue," Jean greeted. Like always, the older girl looked polished and lovely, despite the hour-long trip from the University to the Institute. Rogue flashed a smile that she hoped looked natural.

"Hey, Jean." _Good ta have you back. Not_. "How's college?"

"Crowded and full of idiots – pretty much like Bayville High." Jean laughed lightly, tucking a long lock of hair behind her ear. "And there I was hoping for excitement and adventure. Silly me, huh?"

"Sure. Remy, Ah was actually gonna go, and since you're busy..." Rogue trailed off. She had never wanted to leave a room so badly in her life. She and Remy, well, they weren't anything. They weren't even really friends. There was no reason, none at all, for her to feel so slighted. Rogue felt her stomach sinking into her Converse sneakers.

"Hold up, will ya?" Remy clambered to his feet. "Y' promised to show me around, neh? Y' never struck me as a liar, Rogue." Another wicked grin surfaced as he swung his way over to her.

"It was a pleasure meetin' you all – you especially, Jeanette," he added with a wink.

Jean rolled her eyes. "Charming."

"I try." He followed Rogue into the hall. "Lead the way, _mam'selle_."

"Ah'm sure Jean could show you around," she said stiffly, "if ya wanted. She'd be glad to, and she's good at this stuff."

Remy raised an eyebrow. "Jean didn't say she was gonna show me around. You did, _petit_. Unless I've driven you crazy already?"

Rogue smiled wryly through the curtain of her hair, shaking her head. "You're definitely gettin' there."

"Good. You need some crazy. Dis here's nice and all, but it's awful tame."

Rogue almost laughed as she led him to the elevator. She stifled it with the back of her hand. "You think being an X-man is _tame_?"

Remy pressed the 'up' button. "Okay, mebbe not that tame. You're an awful serious girl, though. Probably need t' be corrupted."

"You work on that," she scoffed.

Remy gave her an appraising look. "An' if I manage t' corrupt you?"

"You won't."

"But if I do," he insisted cheekily.

Rogue rolled her eyes. "If you manage ta corrupt me – and there'll have to be guidelines on corruption – then Ah'll tell ya my name." Her lips curled into a shy, mischievous smile.

"Really now?"

"Ya got my word. Corruption, and you get my name."

Remy followed her into the hallway that branched into the dormitories. "Now dat I have motivation, y' better watch out... Christine?"

"No. Follow me; this way's the boys' rooms."

"Samantha?"

"No. You been down here yet?"

"Only t' see my room. I'm sharin' with dat Sam guy. Lily?"

"Do Ah look like a Lily?" He smirked at her. "Ah guess we could start at the end of this hall and work our way down to the rec rooms and library." Rogue floated just ahead of him, her scuffed shoes barely skimming the floor. "Sound good?"

"_Oui_. Sara?"

"No. Yah know, Ah'm not gonna tell you if yah guess right."

"I'll know. Dat face a' yours'll give it away in a second. Amber?"

"It will not. Give up, Remy."

"Clarissa? Adrienne? Martina?"

"...No."

XxXxXxX

Rogue peeled off her clothes in preparation for bed, still nonplussed. Dinner had gone over well. No, more than well. Dinner had been a hundred times better than she had expected. Dinner had been the equivalent of snowstorms in Mississippi and Bobby being profound.

Admittedly tensions had been running high in the beginning, but it seemed like after a smile and a quip on Remy's part, the whole atmosphere lightened. Even Logan, who had been snarling about the new addition since he arrived, had remained surly but civil. The meal had gone on in its usual chaotic style, and aside from being bombarded with questions, the former Acolyte had been more or less welcomed with open arms.

Still trying to make sense of it all, Rogue finished changing for bed and began to comb her fingers through her hair. Kitty phased through the door already dressed in her pajamas.

"You almost done?" she yawned as she collapsed onto her bed. "I'm absolutely beat."

"Yeah, in a sec," Rogue said, finding a brush and hastily ripping it through her hair.

Kitty made a face. "You're gonna get split ends doing that."

"Do Ah look like the type to worry about split ends?"

"Everybody should worry about split ends. Except for maybe boys," Kitty said decidedly. "And speaking of boys... you and Gambit seem pretty tight."

Rogue shrugged uncomfortably. She didn't know _what_ to think of Remy, and she didn't want Kitty's help figuring it out. "Ah guess."

"He's hot."

"What?" she yelped, dropping the brush on her dresser, "Kitty, seriously!"

"Oh, like you haven't noticed."

Rogue fidgeted, rolling her eyes. "Ah know Remy's good-looking, Kitty. Ah have eyes, don't Ah? But we are so not having this conversation."

Kitty buried herself under her blankets. "Fine, whatever. Did you open that box that came for you? Someone left it over by your guitar."

"What?"

"Over there, right by the edge of the case. I saw it when I came up to grab my Calc book; I figured Bobby or one of the other newbies left it there."

Rogue padded her way over to the package and picked it up gingerly. Her name was scrawled across the top, but there was no return address.

"Who's it from?" Kitty asked drowsily, propping herself on one elbow.

"One way ta find out." Rogue slipped her fingers underneath the tape and pulled lightly. The top of the box exploded open, sending packing peanuts scattering across her bed.

Carefully, she pulled a stack of papers and three slim volumes out of the foam peanuts and shook them off. The first book slipped from her hands and landed face-up on the carpet. Written in elegant, memorable handwriting, the title read: _Irene Adler's __Libris __Veritatis_. In small print on the corner, written quickly in a different hand, read the words _Destiny's Diary, Volume I_.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thank you to anyone who's been reviewing, you all are wonderful! Here's the French, and as always, feel free to correct me if I get something wrong.

_salut_ - hi

_non_ - no

_attends_ - listen up

_Je suis désolé -_ I'm sorry

_aussi -_ also

_ma petit -_ little one

_alors_ - so (interjection)

_sommes-nous amis -_ are we friends?

_chère -_ dear, darling.

_ma jolie_ - (my) pretty. Remy's being facetious.

_docteur_ - doctor

Chapter Nine

A lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies.

~ Alfred Lord Tennyson

"Whatcha want?" The girl, Lexis, her nametag read, was maybe two years older than her. Hell, she could probably be Rogue in two years. Spiky, multi-colored hair, kohl-rimmed eyes, and clothes that looked like a mix of an inner city Goth and a medieval prostitute. Rogue shifted in the squeaky leather chair, second-guessing herself.

"_Irene was a mutant, what we call a precog. She saw a plethora of future possibilities; thousands of different outcomes and alliances. Did she ever mention anything to you? Have you ever seen these books before?"_

Rogue sat up straighter and gave the girl a thin, wry smile. In the mirror, it looked like she was pain.

"Sugah," she said, letting the unfamiliar endearment roll off her tongue like an invitation, "You can do whatever yah want. Go crazy. When you're done, Ah don't wanna recognize myself."

She closed her eyes as Lexis began to cut, tugging her hair this way and that, completely shearing away some chunks. Irene had betrayed her, more than Mystique ever could. Her entire life until two years ago had been a lie. _She brought me in because she saw that Mystique needed me. She made up some skin condition because she knew what mah powers would be_. Everything Irene had done for her had been because of her visions and Mystique. _Did she ever love me? Did either of them?_ Rogue chased those thoughts away because she already Mystique's answer, and she was afraid to know what Irene's might be.

"How do you feel about dye? You wanna keep that peroxide part?" Lexis popped her gum loudly. Rogue blinked, staring into the mirror. Her hair was shorter. A lot shorter. It hadn't even been ten minutes.

"Ah think Ah'll pass," she managed.

Lexis cracked her gum and nodded. "All right. I'm not done," she added, apparently noticing Rogue's wide eyes. "Unless you want me to be?"

"No, that's okay." Rogue closed her eyes again, letting the older girl twist her head around to snip off shocks of hair. Brown and white hair littered the floor, curling thanks to the slightly damp air of the beauty salon.

Lexis' fingers, covered with the plastic gloves doctors wore, urged her to lean back into the sink. Her gloves were the main reason Rogue had come here. The manager at Studio 98 was more than a little paranoid, and liked his employees to be the epitome of health and cleanliness.

"_What we call a precog... thousands of different outcomes and alliances. Did she ever... anything to you?"_

Rogue recoiled from thoughts of Irene and Mystique and her powers. They were too raw, too painful for her to dwell on for any length of time.

She drifted for a bit instead, forcing herself to concentrate on less significant things. There were a hundred note cards worth of research due soon in Psychology. Kurt wanted her to go to Mass with him this weekend. Remy was confusing her, but that was nothing new. She had a training session with Logan tonight at seven.

"Done," Lexis announced with a satisfied snap of her mint-colored gum.

Rogue opened her eyes. Her hair was still far too short, but it was a little more bearable. The edgy bob made her narrow face look a little older, and emphasized her full lips. If she were to be honest, she hated it, but it was what she'd asked for.

"It looks great. Thanks."

Lexis shrugged, looking bored. "Hey, no prob. Pay up front, come again, have a nice day, all that jazz."

Rogue paid thirty dollars to change the face she saw in the mirror, and left with the bell jingling hollowly behind her.

XxXxXxX

"Holy crap, Rogue," were the first words out of anyone, and they were courtesy of Bobby. He looked like he was rethinking them the minute they left his mouth.

"Not, um, that you don't look good or anything, but wow, I mean, that's really different..."

Rogue glared at him and the rest of the younger mutants icily, self-conscious and angry. "What? It's just a haircut. Stop actin' like you've never seen one before."

She grabbed her book bag from the couch and left the living room, vaguely embarrassed.

After twenty math problems and a little research on her pysch paper notes, Rogue sat up and knotted her fingers in her hair. She felt her body shaking and tears forming. She needed to get herself under control. She had training with Logan in twenty minutes, and she couldn't fall apart there.

Hiccupping a little, she buried her face in her pillow. She felt as if she should cry, but she was a lot angrier than she was sad. A_h hate her, but Ah miss her_. Rogue curled up on her side, tucking an arm around her middle. Turned away from everything else, she could close her eyes and pretend that the last few weeks had been an awful dream.

The luminescent numbers of the clock ticked by mercilessly. Rogue glared at the clock, willing it to go just a little slower. Six forty-five. Six fifty. She buried her face in her pillow with a groan, and clutched at it like an anchor until five minutes to seven. Rogue forced herself to get up and get dressed, her stomach intent on tying itself in knots. She stepped out into the hall still feeling anxious and frayed at the ends, like there was nothing in the world that could hold her together. She scrubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands, trying to erase everything that was making her feel so horrible.

"_Salut__, chère_."

She did not want to talk to Remy, or anyone else for that matter. She turned and planted her hands on her hips, scowling fiercely. "What do yah want?"

Shock flickered across his face before he shrugged, jerking his head in the direction of the staircase. "Nothing. I gotta check in wit' _le __docteur_. Y'okay?"

Rogue shifted away from him, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Ah'm _fine_."

His eyes narrowed. "Whatever y' say, Rogue."

They walked in silence into the lower levels of the Institute. Rogue felt her fingers shaking, so she dug them into the palms of her hands. At the door to Dr. McCoy's office, Remy caught her elbow lightly.

"Let go," she muttered, tugging it away.

"What's all dat about, den?" he asked, gesturing at her crumpled face.

"Ah don't have ta tell you," Rogue snapped, her eyes burning. She blinked fiercely to clear them. She was not, was not going to cry in front of him. She was not going to spill her heart out to him, not about something so intensely personal. It wasn't his business – it wasn't anybody's business except hers.

"No, y' don't," he said quietly. "It might be a good idea though. Doesn't help t'go keeping things locked up."

She leaned against the wall, exhaling in one long, shaky breath. She felt the trembling in her fingers ease and the tightness in her chest disappear.

"What are yah doing?" she asked suspiciously, unable to put any real fire into it. He joined her against the cool metal wall, his lips turned up in a crooked half-smile.

"Nothin' important. Y' feel any better?"

Rogue shrugged, unwilling to admit that she could barely remember what she had been so upset about. She glanced up, and found herself staring into Remy's eyes. They hypnotized her, beautiful and dangerous all at once. She leaned toward him, searching his face. He was easily one of the most attractive men she'd ever known, with his chiseled features and wild hair and devilish grin. And he was so close, much closer than most people dared to get. She was pretty sure she wanted to kiss him. She touched his cheek lightly with her fingers, hesitant. She didn't see the shock or apprehension on his face when she leaned forward to brush her lips against his.

The rush of his thoughts was almost as forceful as the hands that shoved her away. She stumbled back as Remy sagged against the wall, panting. Reality and mortification hit her so abruptly she couldn't breathe.

"What did yah do to me?" Rogue narrowed her eyes, cheeks burning. Remy looked up and took a limping step toward her. "Get away from me," she hissed, furious with both of them.

"Rogue, I can explain what happened," he said quickly, holding out a hand. She shook her head forcefully, angry for reasons she couldn't name. "_Non, attends_. I got dis secondary power, an' it's not something I can really control. I can suggest feelings; make people believe what I say… I was just tryin' t' help you out, I swear. I didn't mean for it t' go dat far."

She could see it in his thoughts; she knew he was telling the truth. It didn't stop her hands from balling into fists or keep her face from flushing a deep, embarrassed crimson.

"Yah shouldn't have done it in the first place!"

"I know dat now, okay? I promise, it won't happen again."

It was a spiteful thing for her to do, but his thoughts and feelings mingled so easily, so forcefully with hers that it was hard to tell whose idea it was in the first place. She knew exactly what she had to say, exactly how she had to play her cards to win this round. She took a step back and smiled bitterly, the names Etienne, Julien, and Genevieve poised on the tip of her tongue. Words crawled up her throat, acrid to the taste, until she spit them out with a quiet fury that only belonged partly to her.

"Ah've been in your head, Gambit. Ah know you better n' you do. Don't you promise me anything."

Something horrible flickered across his face. "Y' don't know me, Rogue. You're not even close." His voice was just as cold and equally furious. He struggled to regain his balance, and left for the med bay without another word. Rogue stared blankly after him long after he disappeared, wondering absently when the whole night had gone wrong.

XxXxXxX

Logan threw her onto the ground with enough force to leave her breathless. Rogue shot up, snarling, and swung at his head. She missed by a good inch, and he shoved an elbow into her throat. In one quick move, he tossed her over his arm and back onto the floor. She landed heavily, and this time didn't bother getting up.

"You're a mess, Stripes," he grunted, kicking her side. She felt the force of it without the accompanying pang, but she winced anyway. "Get yourself together or we're done."

Rogue climbed to her feet, still spitting mad with nothing she could do about it. A different sort of rage burned, suddenly but calmly, through her veins. It felt foreign and strange, completely unlike her own explosive bursts of anger. She sprung at him, only to have Logan catch her arm and twist her to the floor, bending her fingers until they cracked. She was supposed to be practicing powerless, but the idea of giving in and using Carol's powers was incredibly tempting.

Surprisingly, it didn't matter. She began to react the second Logan hit an unfamiliar pressure point, bending and arching until she could spring away from him, tumbling easily into a crouch. A split second later she landed a series of high, sweeping kicks, finally pinning Logan to the mat with sharp sound that echoed against the metallic walls. Her body ached fiercely to protest being used in such an unfamiliar way.

"What were yah sayin' again?" she asked peevishly, letting him up. She didn't offer her hand like she normally might have.

Logan jerked her around by her elbow to face him. "Who'd you absorb?"

"It doesn't matter," she spat, wrenching her arm away, "okay? Just leave me alone."

"Rogue." His voice was all warning. "Turn around and get over here. Now."

She turned and stalked back, standing sullenly before him. "What?"

"I asked ya once, and I must not have heard right the first time: Who did you absorb?"

Rogue studied her feet, suddenly interested in the smooth metal floor of the Danger Room. "Rem – Gambit."

"And what? That put enough of a kink in your day ta screw up two years of training?"

She blushed hotly, digging her teeth into her lower lip. "_No_."

Logan walked over to the bench, forcing her to follow. He tossed her a bottle of water and folded his arms across his chest. "So, what then?"

Rogue took a sip of water and sank slowly onto the bench, resting her elbows on her knees. "Ah kissed him," she mumbled at Logan's boots, barely able to force the words past her lips.

She didn't know what she had expected, but it wasn't for Logan to double over laughing at her. She threw the water bottle on the floor and shoved him, sending him sprawling onto one of the mats.

"It wasn't funny!" she shrieked, her hands curling into fists. Logan laughed louder, his entire body shaking. "Shut up!" She kicked the mat viciously, sending it skidding. Logan stood and wiped his eyes, clearly trying harder to stifle his amusement.

He cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. A barely suppressed smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "Ya kissed him."

"_Yes_. But it wasn't mah fault."

"Do tell."

"He has this other power… he made me feel all, yah know," she muttered, gesturing vaguely, unable to describe the dizzying contentment that had washed over her.

"Hate ta break it to ya, but that had nothing ta do with his powers," Logan chuckled, grinning. "Sorry kid."

"Ah can't believe Ah'm trying to explain this ta you," she snapped, crossing her arms. Hurt and humiliation made tears prick her eyes so suddenly that she had to sniff to keep them back.

"Stripes, I'm sorry," he said, sobering a bit. He sat back on the bench, and Rogue followed reluctantly. "So what did the Cajun do?"

"He used his powers ta change how Ah was feelin'," she explained warily, glaring at her knees. "But he wasn't concentratin' and he made me feel – too much better, Ah guess. It was stupid," she muttered testily.

"All right. What are ya going ta do about it?"

"What?"

He looked down at her, bushy eyebrows raised. "You're not comin' ta training like this again," he informed her. "So how are ya going ta fix it?"

"Ah'll talk to him, Ah guess," Rogue mumbled, scuffing her boots against the floor.

"Quit that." She stopped. "Training's over, kid. Tomorrow, you're gonna be on your game again, understand?"

She headed for the exit. "Ah got it."

"Stripes." She turned around. Logan was smiling pleasantly, his claws extended for his own run in the Danger Room. "Tell Gambit that's strike one. And in my book, there is no strike two."

She choked on a laugh. "Ah just might hafta do that."

XxXxXxX

Remy scrubbed a hand across his mouth, trying to erase the burning press of Rogue's lips. It didn't matter that the smear of lipstick was long gone, or that the dizziness had faded to nothing. He could still feel her, tantalizingly close and completely unaware of what she was doing.

He felt bad. Well, a little. Not really. He'd never had anyone react to his suggestions quite the way Rogue had, so it wasn't as if he could have expected it. Still though... still. He had a feeling if _Tante_ Mattie had been around, she would have smacked him a good one upside the head.

The part of him that wasn't feeling guilty was still mad at her for acting like she knew him. The way she looked at him, like she knew his guilt, his pain, his secrets... it unsettled him on a level he didn't want to examine too closely. She couldn't know, didn't. How many times had she absorbed him? Three times? Maybe four? He tried to reassure himself, even though he had no idea how her powers really worked.

_She might know enough_, a nasty little voice in the back of his mind whispered; _she might know what kind of person you really are_.

He flipped the switch of the laptop on. The Institute's library was probably his favorite room in the house. It was full of age-worn bookshelves, priceless paintings, and gilded tables that reminded him of home. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine Lapin and Henri bent over this table puzzling over blueprints, or _Tante_ Mattie in that chair, pouring over a book about herbal remedy.

Remy sat back and pulled up a few of his e-mail accounts. He still hadn't accepted Xavier's contract. He'd been thinking about it for the better part of two weeks, but hadn't figured out if the benefits – and there were a lot of them – outweighed being trapped with the X-men.

The offer was better than he'd originally expected. For one, his salary was a bonus to living for free at the school, and the work the professor wanted him to do was fairly simple. All he had to do was keep an eye on anti-mutant government organizations, and occasionally get on the inside of meetings once his leg healed. It was work for a third-year Thief, someone nowhere near his caliber, but he was being paid according to his Master status. It was quite possibly the best offer he'd received outside of the Guild. Even Magneto had only paid a half of what Xavier was offering.

Remy couldn't see it, though. A Thief in the middle of the X-men; a mercenary among what were essentially do-gooders. He'd given himself up twice already for causes he didn't believe in, and he wasn't one to repeat mistakes without learning from them.

"Mind if Ah join you?"

Remy flinched and minimized the screen. Rogue was floating a few inches off the ground behind him, her hair and the collar of her robe damp from a recent shower. Her expression was cautious, like he might blow up at her without a moment's notice.

"_Non_, of course not," he said, not sure if he was lying. Rogue settled into a chair and tucked her legs up underneath her. She tugged at the hem of her pajama pants, looking distinctly uncomfortable. She might have been angry or embarrassed or both, and it frustrated him that he couldn't tell which.

"Ah'm sorry about earlier," she said finally.

Remy closed the laptop and sighed. "Don't be. Dat was my fault."

"Well partly," she amended, offering him an uncertain smile. "You were tryin' ta help, and Ah shouldn't have said what Ah did... so yeah. Ah'm sorry."

"_Je suis désolé aussi, ma petit. Alors, sommes-nous amis_?"

"Your French is messed up," she informed him. "Ah can't understand a word."

"M' sorry too, _petit_," he said sincerely. "Friends?"

She smiled, ducking her head. "Yeah, friends. One condition, though."

"Hmm?"

"You have got ta stop calling me 'little.' Ah do understand that, and Ah'm not that much younger than you," she said with a roll of her eyes. Without make-up, he noticed, they were almost green.

"I'll try. What would you prefer instead? _Ma jolie_?"

"Or you could just call me Rogue," she suggested, laughing a little.

"Until I find out your real name, y' mean."

She arched an eyebrow. "Only if yah corrupt me, remember?"

"Well, I have gotten a kiss," he pointed out. "I think dat's a good start, don't you?"

"Today doesn't count," she told him irritably.

At that, he grinned widely, leaning forward to tug lightly at the collar of her robe. He traced his fingers lightly down the edges of the cloth until his hands met at her stomach. He gently scrunched the soft folds of cotton in his fingers. He could feel each of Rogue's shaky breaths as her eyes widened and her mouth fell open in surprise.

For an eternal moment, Rogue stayed frozen, her expression unreadable. Remy tensed too, but in anticipation of the slap that didn't come.

"Looks like I'm gettin' dere, huh?" He let her pull back and away, redefining her space. She had yet to say a word, and for a second he thought he'd gone too far.

"Yah know, yah keep pulling stunts like that and Ah'm gonna know a lot more about you than either us want," she said archly. There was a little indignation in her expression, but it was belied by the color that flushed her cheeks and the quirk of her lips.

"Guess dat's a risk I'm gonna have t' take."

"You're crazy," she said firmly, shaking her head. She got and smoothed her robe over her hips, unconscious of his eyes trailing after her hands.

"Mebbe I am, but it seems t' be rubbin' off, eh _chère_?"

"You wish." Still looking wryly amused and faintly embarrassed, she crossed the room on silent feet. Then at the archway, she turned and gave him an unexpectedly wicked smile.

"Remy?" He raised his eyebrows. "You're not even close ta corruptin' me," she said sweetly. She slipped out without another word, and he watched her faint shadow disappear down the hall.

_I'm bein' played by a little girl_. He shook his head and tried to return to his e-mail without thinking about Rogue. He quickly discovered it was impossible.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Your French translations for the chapter. Enjoy ;)

_ouais_ - yeah

_mort_ - dead

_merci_ - thank you

_chère_ - dear

_frère_ - brother

Chapter Ten

Oh what a tangled web we weave

~ Sir Walter Scott

Early morning inside a high-security prison was not much different than any other time of day. The atmosphere was structured and tense, a heavy feeling that made you want to crawl out of your own skin. There was one key difference though, a quiet shift from the normal routine. Right before daybreak, it got deathly quiet. The prisoners were up, moving but silent, which left most watchmen checking the time and counting the minutes until the shift ended.

This morning and every morning, this was the time when agitation and boredom struck both the guards and the prisoners until the first meal of the day arrived in chipped, well-scoured trays. It was a time to be cautious, a time to keep tensions low and moral high.

He would know, wouldn't he? After working here for almost twenty years, he could feel the patterns and subtle shifts of the place; he knew when to be on his guard and when it was all right to relax a little. Early mornings, he'd discovered, were when everything could change in the blink of an eye.

He patrolled the cell block, thinking longingly of his bed and wife at home. The bed would be empty by the time his shift was done, but Renee almost always made him a late breakfast before she left for work. He fantasized about scrambled eggs and greasy bacon as he made his way past the cells, checking quickly inside each one through the barred portholes.

Before the last cell, there were two kept empty on either side. He steeled himself before striding past them.

An unfamiliar woman sat on the inside, manacled at the hands, neck, and feet. Her hands were folded tightly, almost as if she were praying. He snorted quietly. For all the good that would do her here.

The woman started at the noise. "Oh, thank God. You have to let me out," she said desperately. Her voice was a harsh rasp, barely audible. "I don't belong here."

He smirked. "Keep trying, mutie. That's the same trick you've been using since you got here."

"I am _not_ a mutant!" Her dark eyes flashed. "I need to call my lawyer. I don't belong here. Don't I get a phone call or something?"

He spared her a glance. "Not here you don't."

There was an echoing clatter of metal scraping metal as she stumbled to her feet, only to fall heavily to her knees. The gray in her hair shone brightly under the fluorescent lighting. "I'm not supposed to be here," she hissed, mumbling something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "you incompetent moron". She glared up at him through the slats, her face coldly furious. "Call anyone. My name is Raven Darkholme. I don't belong here," she repeated, accentuating each word.

He turned away from her. He was so tired he'd forgotten one of the most important things he'd learned working here: Never talk to them. Never encourage them. Leave that to the correctional officers. He was there to make sure they didn't break out and kill each other.

"Don't you walk away from me!" Panic roughened her already hoarse voice. "Listen to me! I don't belong here," she screamed, pounding the chains against the floor. The scraping noise echoed strangely against the white walls and concrete floor, bouncing eerily through the hallway. Around him, prisoners grumbled and swore, irritated with the noise.

"My name is Raven Darkholme," she rasped, pounding a fist against the heavy door. She sounded genuinely terrified. He reminded himself she had done the same thing a hundred different times, with a thousand different faces. This was no different.

He hurried away, his skin crawling. Mutants. They were all the same. Manipulative and violent, given the chance. He'd seen what this one could do. Snapped a guard's neck on the first day. Not someone he knew, but all the same. Mutants were better dealt with by people who knew how to handle them.

"Listen to me! I'm not supposed to be here!"

XxXxXxX

Rogue drummed her fingers against the desk, trying to come up with the words she needed to sum up her Psychology paper introduction. Kitty, typing on a computer next to her, jiggled her crossed legs and bounced in her seat. She was clearly having the same sort of trouble.

"Rogue, what's another word for diagnosis? I've used it like, six times already," Kitty groaned. "I sound like a bad Wikipedia article."

"Umm... opinion? Prognosis? Conclusion? Ah don't know. Ah can't even finish mah introduction." Rogue propped her chin in her hand, sighing. "Ah absolutely hate writing papers."

"You know, Hartford isn't gonna give us better than a B anyway, not after those complaints he was getting from the school board. Why are we even trying?" The petite girl raised an eyebrow in Rogue's direction and made a face. "You wanna drop out with me? I hear the Burger Barn is hiring."

Rogue shrugged sympathetically, grimacing. "Kitty, you're the last person who should be droppin' outta high school. Even with the teachers pickin' on us you do better than everybody else. Besides," she added, "Ah think Ah would kill someone if Ah had ta work at the Burger Barn."

"Ladies, let's quit the chit-chat and get some work done, all right?" Mr. Hartford peered over their shoulders, frowning. "Rogue, you barely have a paragraph finished. Please try to concentrate on your work in this class and not Miss Pryde's latest gossip."

She and Kitty exchanged exasperated glances and went back to work. Rogue bit her lip, wondering if pain was at all associated with clearer thinking. It certainly wasn't helping her.

"_Henri's dead, Remy." She blinked. Jean-Luc LeBeau watched her with haunted eyes, his expression grim. "Remy, your brother is dead. Do y' understand?"_

"_Ouais_," she mumbled. Kitty kicked her chair as Mr. Hartford and a handful of kids from their class turned around to stare at her.

"What did you say, Rogue?"

"Nothin' Mr. Hartford," she said quickly. The smell of damp earth and chemicals overtook her so suddenly she almost gagged. Henri's dead, my brother is gone, _mon Dieu mon frère est mort_. She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand, wincing. The thoughts were painfully sharp, like broken glass or jagged metal.

_What's going on?_ Kitty scribbled quickly on her notebook, a worried frown creasing her face. Rogue pushed it away and shook her head.

"Later," she mouthed. Her fingers shook as she tried to type. By the time the bell rung she could barely form a sentence, let alone one that described the typical symptoms of social phobias.

The two of them hurried to the cafeteria without speaking. It wasn't Kitty's lunch period, but that didn't seem to be stopping her from trailing along next to her roommate. By the time they reached Rogue's usual table – a secluded spot away from the rest of the students – Kitty looked like she was about to burst with curiosity.

"So what happened in there? You sounded like Remy for a second." The younger girl stopped twirling her bottle cap and gaped at Rogue. "Wait. No way. You didn't touch him, did you?"

Rogue feigned interest in the apple she was shining against her sleeve. To be honest, she was surprised Kitty didn't already know. "Mighta. Aren't yah supposed ta be in Chem right now?"

Kitty grinned widely, ignoring her question. "Oh? You might've? You're blushing really badly, by the way."

"Ah am not blushing," she said firmly.

"Yes, you are," Kitty sighed happily. "So what happened?"

_Jean-Luc glowered at her, fury so deeply etched into his face it looked like it might never leave. She winced and glanced at her hands. They were bare and covered with thin white scars. A fresh bandage was wrapped tightly around her right hand, already turning red in the middle. She concentrated on the rust-colored stain spreading slowly out from her palm. _

"_Remy. Pay attention. What. Happened. Y' have t' tell me exactly what happened."_

"Rogue, you're not listening to me, are you?"

She shivered and shrugged. "Sorry Kitty. Ah didn't mean ta zone out on yah."

"That's okay. I can always ask Remy for details later," she beamed.

Rogue glared, inwardly shuddering at the thought. "Yes," she said slowly, "Ah did absorb him. It was nothin' important, okay?"

"I don't believe you." Kitty stood and grabbed her books. "You were right, I have to get to Chem – see you later!"

Rogue rubbed her temples. Her thoughts tumbled in and out of a slow, twanging French she recognized from the few times she'd heard Remy speak it. She pushed his memories away, only to have them push back just as hard. In the middle of the crowded lunchroom, she could smell the wet wood of the bayou and hear the low sound of Jean-Luc and _Tante_ Mattie arguing a room away. She rested her head on her arms and let it wash over her. Memories swam in her mind's eye, as clear as if they belonged to her alone. When the bell trilled again, Rogue stood, feeling cold. She would have given a lot of things not to have a gift like hers.

XxXxXxX

Rogue dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands, resting her cheek against her knee. The ice crusting the fountain scraped off when she moved, sending flurries of snow into the air. It was late enough that the temperature had dropped, and she could see each breath as it plumed from her lips.

The fountain wasn't an ideal place to think. It was in the middle of the lawn, and easily visible from nearly every window at the Institute. At dusk, though, it was a little safer, and a lot quieter than anywhere inside the house.

Rogue traced swirling patterns into the ice. The patchwork of information she'd absorbed was dark and confusing; a brief glance at Remy's life that she didn't want to see. She liked to pretend that he was like she had been: misguided, used by the wrong people, but still good at heart. Everything she had absorbed from him – now and in New Orleans – told her that wasn't necessarily true. She frowned fiercely at the thought, but couldn't think of anything that would make it less real.

Frustrated, Rogue flew up to the house and let herself in from a second floor balcony. The light was already on in her room when she got to the door.

"Hey Rogue," Kitty greeted. Remy was sitting next to her, and Rogue's stomach clenched for a hundred different reasons.

"Hey Kitty, hey Remy," she mumbled, sinking onto her own bed.

"You know, I was just going to head downstairs," Kitty said brightly. "I forgot my math book on the table." She hopped off the bed and phased through the floor, ignoring Rogue's pointed look.

"What was that all about?"

Remy shrugged and crossed the room to sit beside her. "M' thinking that was her way of tactfully givin' us some time t' talk." He kicked his crutches under the bed.

Apprehension tingled in her limbs. Rogue bit her lip nervously. "What about?"

He gave her a half-smile. "She said you were talkin' t' yourself today, an' she thought maybe it was somethin' you'd gotten from me." His expression turned curious. "Was it?"

There wasn't much point lying about it. "Yeah. It wasn't very clear, though."

"What wasn't?"

"Your memories… it was just some stuff that'd happened before yah left New Orleans."

Remy's hands clenched, and she could see the thin scars that worked their way up to his wrists. They were painfully familiar. "An' what did y' see, _chère_?"

Rogue tucked her legs up against her and looked away from him. "Ah'm sorry about your brother."

Remy stayed very quiet, his eyes burning. After what felt like an eternity, his hands relaxed and he smiled sadly, shaking his head. "_Merci_, I guess. I suppose y' know what dat's like, huh?"

"Like yah said… we could write a book." She let the subject drop. Right now, it wasn't important what he'd done or who he'd been. For right now, she could pretend it didn't matter.

He chuckled, and she could hear his relief. "Dat we could."

"Remy?" she ventured, plucking at a loose string on her bedspread, "Yah didn't happen ta talk with Kitty about anything else, did yah?"

He grinned impishly. "Whatever do y' mean _chère_?"

Rogue felt herself blushing hotly, so she buried her face in her hands. "Ah can't believe you," she groaned. "Now the whole Institute's gonna know what happened last night."

"Last night? I was just askin' her about de training y'all do here. What did you think I was talkin' about?"

One look at his face told her he'd known what he was doing all along. She smacked his arm lightly. She hadn't put much force behind it, but he still winced.

"Rogue, c'mon, y' know I was just kiddin' with you. No need t' maim me."

"That's what you think," she muttered darkly. "C'mon, let's head down ta dinner."

He picked up his crutches and somehow managed to one-handedly open the door before she could get to it. "As de lady wishes."


	11. Chapter 11

French to English, you know the drill:

_mon gar_ - dude; man

_mon ami_ - my friend

_chèrie_ - dear; darling

_bon matin_ - good morning

_ouais_ - yeah

_si_ - a positive answer to a negative question "Don't you have any money?" "Yes, I do."

Chapter Eleven

We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present.

~ Anais Nin

"What do ya think, Charles?" Logan leaned back in the chair, folding his arms across his broad chest. Despite the unreasonably early hour he seemed, as always, warily alert. "I'm willing ta bet Adler and Mystique are more connected than just knowin' each other once upon a time. They'd obviously been workin' together up until a month ago, and not just at usin' Rogue."

The professor sighed. "I agree. I'm assuming having Rogue absorb Ms. Danvers has something to do with a larger prophecy in Destiny's diaries, but as we only have the first three... well, it's impossible to tell."

"There are more?" Storm asked drowsily over her cup of tea. Unlike Logan, she looked like she was just barely awake.

Her mentor nodded wearily. "According to the will that was sent to Rogue, there are thirteen diaries, all entrusted to her. However, it appears Mystique had other plans."

"Which will be impossible to ask her about now," Storm said sourly. At the men's questioning looks, she clarified, "As much as I dislike Mystique, I also dislike using my powers in such a way."

Logan stifled a snort. "Don't go knockin' justice, 'Ro. There's not enough of it as is."

"Your sense of justice is different than mine," she said simply. "What do you propose, Charles? Do we find these books?"

"For Rogue's sake, and for the rest of the students', I believe we have to. Mystique went to great lengths to make sure Rogue would retain Carol's powers, and she would not have gone to that much trouble without making sure she would benefit from the outcome."

Logan shook his head. "So off ta find ten books that could be anywhere, look like anything, and hold the answers to the future?"

The professor smiled, folding his hands. "Well, I do believe if there was anyone who had even a remote chance at finding these books..."

"It would be the X-men," Storm finished for him. She lifted her drink in a toast, a small smile curving her lips. "To finding Destiny's Diaries, my friends."

"To another impossible mission." Logan raised his coffee, grinning. "Hear hear."

XxXxXxX

In the dream, the light filtered greenly through the tangled brambles of her childhood hideout. It was the middle of summer in Mississippi, and she was a little less than ten years old. Her conscious mind murmured that this was not quite right, but the imagery of the dream was strong enough to silence it.

Rogue followed the dirt path down to the sluggish Pearl River. The light changed – it was no longer soft and muted but burning brightly off the surface of the water. Her bare feet sank into the thick mud on the banks, until she couldn't see her ankles. When she lifted a foot out, it was still dry and clean.

There was the lightest pressure; a feeling almost like a sigh. Soft footsteps drew her gaze from a puddle full of tadpoles to the familiar figure that was slipping out of the tumbling woods.

"Carol?" Her voice was too rich to be a child's, and with that realization the dream began to lose its luster. The sparkling world faded at the edges, becoming something more like a memory.

The young woman smiled at her, pushing back hair that seemed a shade paler than when they had last met. "Hello Rogue."

"Ah thought we couldn't talk." It was hard to speak. The words came slowly and felt tangible, as if each one rested heavily on her tongue before dropping slowly into the humid air.

"This is just a dream," Carol pointed out. Her blue eyes glinted. They seemed milky and distant, as if they were clouding over on the inside.

Rogue flinched when Carol reached out and cupped a hand against her face. The other girl's fingers were frigid and dry. Goosebumps broke out across her skin and shivers crawled up her spine.

"You're so young," Carol said distantly. Her grip tightened the slightest bit.

"Maybe," Rogue said doubtfully. She knew she wasn't, really. She didn't know how old she was supposed to be, exactly, but she was not a skinny little girl with ragged pigtails and dirty feet. The thought pulled her closer to consciousness, to reality. "Carol?"

"Yes?" She let her hand drop, and Rogue let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

"Do yah… do yah hate me? For what Ah did?"

Carol blinked, her cloudy eyes uncertain. "I don't know. I don't think so."

A thousand questions clamored to the front of her mind. Before she could decide on even one of them, Rogue felt herself being pulled from the dream, slowly at first, then in a rush of warmth and darkness.

XxXxXxX

Rogue woke suspended in the air, half-cocooned in her blankets. She blinked, waiting to fall, before she realized she was actually floating above her bed and the dream was over. She wiggled her toes experimentally and managed to free one foot from the tangle of sheets.

It was earlier than she had expected; pearl-colored light was just seeping through the window. Kitty, who usually woke up before her, was still asleep with her stuffed dragon tucked tightly under one arm.

Once she settled herself back on the bed, the urge to be airborne again nearly overwhelmed her. Her entire body ached with the need to fly out into the early morning sky.

It took an unreasonable amount of time to untangle herself from the sheets. They ended up in a pile at the end of her bed, where they spilled haphazardly onto the floor. Rogue decided remaking the bed wasn't worth the effort, and crossed the room to her side of the closet without touching the ground. She changed quietly into a faded pair of jeans and a sweatshirt worn thin with age. She chose them specifically because she didn't care about them, and where she was planning on going they were going to get a little roughed up.

After slipping downstairs and out the back door, she flew until she hit the coastline. She landed lightly on the rocky, frost-covered beach, where the waves crashed against the sand and onto her bare feet. The feeling made her smile, and she rolled up her pants so she could wade in freezing water.

From here she could see the gazebo, and the spot where not so long ago she thought Mystique had died. There was a small part of her, a part she wished didn't exist, that had no regrets about shoving her mother off the cliff. It was that part of her that scared her to death, and made her wonder if she was that much different from Mystique after all. It made her wonder if, despite everything, she was going to turn into the sort of woman her mother was.

She shook the thought away. It worried her enough to steal the peace of the morning, and all she wanted right now was to concentrate on the rising sun and the sound of the surf. She closed her eyes and tried very hard not to think of anything. She felt something tug at her senses, like a memory she couldn't quite recall.

She lifted into the air and flew until the craggy drop-off became a jagged line of trees, and the only things surrounding her were the white-capped waves. She flew until she could no longer see the gazebo sitting solemnly above her, condemning her for a crime that should have been unforgivable.

The spray soaked her jeans up to the thigh, melding them to her legs. The cold, heavy feeling gave way to a sort of giddiness, and she began to giggle with the absurdity of what she was about to do. Then in one looping arc, she dove straight into the ocean.

Rogue let the dark water swirl over her head for a split second before she exploded out of the waves. She hung in the air for a long moment, holding her dripping hair back with one hand as a smile fought its way across her face.

_That has got ta be the craziest thing Ah've done in a while_. She abruptly remembering kissing Remy, and she felt herself blushing. _Well, in the last day, anyway_, she amended.

By now the sun had slid over the horizon. Rogue wrapped her arms around herself without noticing the uncomfortable feel of waterlogged cotton. She allowed herself one look back at the spot where the gazebo stood before turning back and soaring in the direction of the Institute.

XxXxXxX

Remy signed his name at the end of Xavier's contract and waited for dread to crawl, viselike, up his spine. When he felt nothing but a sense of finality, he heaved a sigh and tossed the stack of paper onto the bed.

He didn't know why he was staying. He had no real friends here, with the possible exception of Rogue; he had no connection to this place or these people. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

_De pay's great_, he reminded himself, _and I'm outta commission for a couple of months. It's a good way t' get by_. Something in his gut told him it was more than that, but he decided he would ignore that particular feeling. No use in worrying about something that hadn't happened yet.

His phone began to ring, trilling desperately underneath his coat. He flipped it open and held it to his ear.

"Hello?"

Absolute silence. Remy checked the screen – unknown caller, blocked number. He swallowed reflexively, and slowly brought the phone back up to his ear.

"I'm sorry," he said haltingly, "but I think y' have a wrong number." He ended the call. He hit redial out of sadistic curiosity, but only got a busy tone. He told himself he hadn't been expecting anything else.

"Needed a new phone anyway," he mumbled, charging it. It exploded it a shower of lurid sparks and popping plastic.

"Mornin' Gambit." Sam let himself in, and as always, he looked vaguely surprised to see Remy there. Tall, gawky, and quiet, he was a good choice to pair the Thief with. He was never nosy and always gracious; two qualities Remy could find no fault in. In fact, Sam reminded him a little of how Etienne might have been, if Etienne had lived to be sixteen.

"_Bon matin_, Sam."

The younger boy turned from where he was shoving books into his backpack, quietly observant. "Everythin' all right?"

Remy shrugged. "_Ouais_, everything's fine. Just got a call from an old friend, is all."

Sam's eyebrows disappeared into his shaggy blond hair. "Oh. Okay." He looked like he was about to say more, but thought better of it.

"Somethin' on y' mind, _mon gar_?"

Sam lifted a shoulder, embarrassed. "It's nothin'."

"Oh? Try me," he prompted, resting his elbows on his knees. Once and a while, gossip was a more reliable source than people gave it credit for. It let you know which way the wind was blowing. Remy figured that was doubly true in a house full of teenagers.

"I was just wonderin'… ya know. If it was true about you an' Rogue. Amara said y'all were together, or somethin'." Sam blushed as he said it, looking away. "Not that it's any a' my business."

"Me an' Rogue?"

The younger boy cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yeah."

"Huh." Remy picked up his crutches and tucked the contract under one arm. He tried to suppress the amusement working its way onto his face. "Can't help y' dere, seeing as I don't know one way or de other. Sorry t' disappoint, _mon ami_."

Remy stifled his grin until after he limped out the door, leaving a mystified Sam behind him.

XxXxXxX

Rogue was still in the process of fixing her hair when there was a knock on the door.

"Are you gonna get that?" Kitty asked around a ponytail holder. "I kinda have my hands full." She was wrestling her books into her book bag and trying to do her hair at the same time.

"Sure." Rogue smoothed out the last section of her hair and dropped her brush onto the bureau. It clattered noisily against bottles of perfume and nail polish, and she made a mental note to organize her make-up later.

"Mornin', _chèrie_," Remy greeted, balancing on his crutches. "Y' know, y' never did show me de dining room. And since dis is my first breakfast with y'all, I was hopin' you might continue m' tour."

"You've never had breakfast here?" she asked incredulously, propping her hands on her hips. The name Henri was whispered very softly at the back of her mind; she pushed it away. "How is that even possible?"

"_Si_, I have, but never with everybody dere. I was hopin' your good graces would help me make a good first impression." He smiled cheekily.

Rogue scoffed. "_Mah_good graces? If you had any sense at all, yah wouldn't be askin' me."

He raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for her answer. When she turned to Kitty for support, her roommate only shooed her away.

"You heard him, Rogue. He wants you to go with him. Besides, you can make sure he doesn't trip down the stairs or anything."

The two of them made their way to the dining room. Remy tripped twice, forcing Rogue to grab his elbow to keep him from falling. He swore up and down the whole way to the kitchen that it wasn't on purpose.

Silence reigned over the mutant teens for a grand total of a second before the melee restarted.

"Welcome to the Institute, Remy," Rogue said with a grin.

"I've been here for almost a month, _petit_."

She made a face. "Just for that, you're gettin' your own breakfast. Enjoy."

The others who had been paying attention watched with amusement as she stalked off to pour a bowl of cereal, only to return a moment later with two bowls and a contrary expression.

"Ah hope you like Lucky Charms."

"Love 'em. Like de hair, by de way. Forgot t' mention it."

"Forgot? You wish. Yah probably didn't even notice," Rogue quipped, but she was blushing with pleasure beneath her make-up.

Professor Xavier smiled at their banter from across the table, catching Jean's attention. She tipped her head toward him, smiling as well.

"You really think he's going to fit in here, Professor?"

"Mr. LeBeau?" He gave the young man a considering look, watching as he flipped a soggy marshmallow at Rogue, who glared and flicked it right back at him. The two of them began to laugh when it stuck to his cheek. "I think he'll fit in just fine."

"Professor, how do you feel about April Fools'?" Bobby interrupted hopefully.

"Keep it on Institute grounds, Bobby, and off the five o' clock news."

"Was that an 'I adore April Fools' very much and would condone a little high-spirited fun', Prof?"

Professor Xavier sighed, smiling. "I suppose so." He raised a quizzical eyebrow in Jean's direction. "Whatever are you drawing, my dear?"

Jean glanced down at her napkin, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I thought I knew." She traced over the lines of a bird with her pencil, accentuating its outspread wings and proud, curving head. "Something from my English class, I think. We were talking about mythology, and this picture from our book got stuck in my mind. I thought maybe if I got it on paper, I could remember what it was."

"It looks like a phoenix, maybe," the professor said, squinting. "Not that I doubt your skills as an artist, Jean."

She chuckled, shrugging. "Professor, we both know my drawing leaves a lot to be desired. I think you're right, though. I was thinking of a phoenix. That's the bird that dies and then is born again, right?"

He smiled, lifting his coffee to his lips. "Leaving destruction and new life behind in its wake, as the story sometimes goes. Quite right."

"The images that can get stuck in our heads sometimes," she said thoughtfully, shaking her own head. "It's crazy."

"Maybe," the professor agreed with a serene smile. "Maybe not."

-Fin-

A/N: Phew! Part one, done. Part two... let's call it "in the works." Thank you to everyone who was reading, you are much appreciated. Take care of yourselves over the holidays, and of course, let me know what you thought ~

Leo

A/N 5-8-09: The second half of Eluding Destiny, Hourglass, is up and being updated… slowly, but it is. Feel free to head over and check it out ;)


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